Grievers, Minho, and Other Wicked Things
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: Ever wonder what those first days were like for Newt in the Maze? How he became a Runner, proved himself to the others, and met a certain, handsome Keeper...?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi guys! So I've been thinking about writing this for a while. It's going to be a two or three-part story of Newt's first few weeks or days in the Maze. Here's a short prequel (this scene will probably be rewritten later); let me know if I should continue :)**

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a square of bright blue sky. Not a single cloud in the deep azure. And circling that sky was a ring of teenage boys.

Newt scrambled to sit up, pushing himself back against the wall of the Box. His chest heaved, a thousand scattered thoughts crowding his mind, eyes wide and panicked. The ring of boys shuffled, murmuring to each other. They all shot him curious glances. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. Who were they? Who was he?

A dark-skinned guy spoke first, in a deep commanding voice. "So who's gonna get him out of there?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

A black-haired guy with an ugly face and wearing a dirty white tee sneered. "I think the ugliest should get him, right, Frypan?"

A burly guy with chestnut hair gave the black-haired boy a shove. "Shut your mouth, Gally," he growled. "If anyone's the ugly one, it's you."

"I think the strongest should get him," a wide-eyed, younger boy put in honestly.

Newt watched as all eyes went to a broad-shouldered Asian with spiked, black hair. His black T-shirt sleeves were rolled up to show off his powerful arms. He glowered at all of them and Newt was hypnotized by his low voice as he said, very simply, "I'd rather shuck with Gally."

The boys erupted into laughter.


	2. Part One

Hey, guys, sorry for the long wait. I've been having a lot of issues with updating my stories, but I'm gonna try to keep this one going. Anyway, here's Part One. Hope you like it! :)

All of the boys erupted into laughter.

Newt pressed his back against the cool metal wall of the Box, trying to keep as far away as possible. He had no idea who these people were, or what they were going to do to him. Hell, he didn't even know how he'd gotten here. Wherever here was. He could feel panic settling into his veins like freezing ice and he desperately tried to hold it down. If he showed these people how terrified he was, who knew how they'd react. He swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn't sound weak, and spoke up for the first time since opening his eyes. "Um...where am I?"

A hush fell over the teenagers for an instant. The boy with the flop of black hair, Gally, tipped his head to one side. "What the hell?" he asked, a nasty edge in his words. "What's wrong with your voice, Greenie?"

The Asian guy shot Gally a harsh glare. "It's called an accent, shank," he snapped. He spared a sideways glance down at Newt through deep brown eyes.

Gally scowled at the other boy. "Shut up, Minho, before I break your legs."

The Asian, Minho, bristled. "Come and try it then," he challenged. His hands were fists at his sides, the muscles in his arms and shoulders sleek and powerful. "I dare you."

Gally took one step forward, but made it no farther before the guy with the dusky skin spoke up. "Both of you slim it!" he ordered, obsidian gaze smoldering. He pointed a finger at the two arguing teenagers. "I won't have you fighting in front of the Greenie, you hear me? Gally, go be a shuck-face somewhere else, and Minho, you have your own work to do."

Gally's eyes blazed, but he only grumbled a complaint before trudging away. Minho lingered long enough to flash Gally a triumphant smirk and then he left too. The other boys stayed, mostly out of curiosity. They backed up a few inches when the dark-skinned guy knelt and then jumped down into the Box. His boots clanged against the floor, rattling it. He stood over Newt and regarded him through half-closed eyes. Newt felt like some exhibit that they might send away once they grew bored with him. Finally, the boy cracked a smile and held out one hand. "My name's Alby," he said in greeting. "And you just got a one-way ticket to Hell, Greenie."

Newt had no response to such ominous words, so he just took Alby's hand let the other boy help him up. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, but only for a moment. "Thanks," he muttered, when Alby put a hand on his shoulder to help him stand. He glanced around them. "Where are we?"

"Come up and find out," Alby replied. He grabbed the lip of the Box and braced one foot against the side. Then, in one smooth motion, he hauled himself up and out. At the top, he stood, looking down at Newt. "C'mon, Greenie, we ain't got all day."

Newt hesitantly approached the side of the Box. Was he strong enough to pull himself out without looking like an idiot? Well, here goes nothing, I guess. Gripping the top of the Box as Alby had done, he pressed the sole of his foot to the metal. Surprised, he noticed that he wore boots like Alby, along with jeans and a cream-colored hoodie. When had he gotten this stuff? Pushing the thought to the back of his mind for now, he braced himself before climbing up beside Alby. Clambering to his feet, he looked again at who he now assumed was the leader here. "So? What is this place?"

Alby chuckled, like this was amusing. "It's called the Glade," he said, and he gestured out to their surroundings.

Newt followed Alby's gaze and then stared in shock. They were in a massive area of lush grass and trees, all enclosed by towering stone walls. They soared to an impossible height, casting a shadow over the edge of the Glade. But it was the Glade itself that shocked Newt. It was beautiful, lit by golden, midday sunlight. There was a building at one end, large, but beaten. The windows were shattered and cracked, and the place seemed close to falling apart. But there were other buildings too, a shorter one at one side, where several boys were disappearing into now. And a suspicious-looking shack surrounded by squealing pigs and farm animals sat at the opposite side. A dog barked from somewhere and conversations from other boys rose up around them. Newt had never seen anything like it before.

"This is incredible," he said. He turned back to Alby. "Do you all live here?"

"Yep," Alby replied. "You do too, now. The newest Greenie."

Newt wrinkled his nose at the nickname. "The what?"

"It's what we call everyone that's new here," Alby explained, shrugging, but giving Newt a half-smile. "What's your name anyway?"

"Newt."

"Newt, huh?" Alby laughed. "It'll be a while before people start calling you that instead of Greenie." He gave the blonde a playful push that sent him stumbling. "Follow me. We gotta get you settled in and working." With that, he set off, heading deeper into the Glade. He was definitely the leader, moving from one task to the next.

Newt burned with questions, but was sure that none of them were being answered anytime soon. With a last glance back at the Box, he jogged to catch up with Alby. Once he reached him, he matched the other guy's pace. "What do you mean, 'working?'" he asked, a little worriedly. "Do you all have jobs here?"

"Gotta keep this place running somehow," Alby replied matter-of-factly. "Everyone has a job, and every job has a Keeper. The work is mostly done in the Glade, like the Blood House guys, or the Sloppers. Only Runners go out in the Maze."

Newt blanched. "The WHAT?"

Alby waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it," he brushed it off. "You probably won't be a Runner anyway. Only the best of the best are Runners." He gave Newt a warning glance that clearly meant trust me and just drop it. Satisfied that Newt got the message, he continued, pointing to the large, rundown building. "That's the Homestead, over there. Med-jacks and Frypan work in there sometimes. Med-jacks help when you're sick or get yourself hurt, and Frypan's Frypan. You'll see him later." He then gestured to the shack, where all the pigs were wandering around in their pen. "That's the Blood House. Not much more can be said about that one. Pray that you don't get that job, because Winston, the Keeper of the Slicers, is the closest thing we got to an ax murderer. There he is now, see him?"

Newt craned his neck and spotted a tall guy with short, dark hair standing near a couple of others, an ax held in his grasp. He did resemble a murderer, with that coldness in his face that came from killing. A shudder ran down Newt's back.

"Anyway," Alby went on, pointing at the last building. "That's the Map Room. You will never set foot in there. Only Runners go in."

Newt blinked, curious, despite himself. "Why only Runners?"

"Because only Runners draw the maps," Alby answered. He paused, watching as the door to the Map Room swung open. The corner of his mouth turned up. "Besides, Minho's over there now, and he'll kick your ass if you go in uninvited."

Newt noticed two boys emerge from the Map Room; Minho and another kid with ruffled, flaming hair. The redhead was rubbing his temples, exhausted, while Minho laced his hands together behind his head. The action brought out the obvious strength of his biceps and his black T-shirt edged up to show an inch of skin. His gaze flicked toward Newt, who quickly averted his eyes, not knowing why he suddenly felt his face burning.

Alby suddenly halted, facing Newt with hands on his hips. "So," he said, with an air of finality. "You ready to get started?"

Newt's jaw dropped. "Like...right now?"

"Yeah, right now! Everybody pulls their own weight around here, so you have to start quick or the others'll hate you." He grinned savagely, like this was funny to him. "You're going through every single job with every single Keeper til we find something you're good at. Could take a while. But you might wanna get moving now."

Newt had a very bad feeling about this.

~Evening, after a long, relatively awful day~

Newt pretty much collapsed onto the grass at the end of the day. A fire had been lit in a cleared patch of earth near the center of the Glade, crackling and surrounded by a pack of Gladers; the orange warmth washed over him as he sat a few feet away and fell onto his back. His blonde flop of hair was falling over his eyes and sweat made his shirt stick to him. He gave a groan of exhaustion and stared up at the star-drunk sky through tired eyes. Today SUCKED.

He had learned two things today. One: Alby was one tough, somewhat-rude, son of a bitch. And two: every single job here was utter CRAP. He'd forgotten every name of every medicine as soon as the Med-jacks explained them to him. Then he'd nearly stabbed himself with a syringe by accident. At the Blood House, he'd jumped and yelped like a girl when Winston chopped the head off a chicken. The Keeper promptly told him to get lost. At the gardens, he'd gotten into a throwing match (involving carrots and tomatoes) with that slinthead, Gally. With the Baggers, he had managed to annoy everybody by repeatedly asking them to PLASE JUST FORGET THAT HE WAS A GREENIE AND TELL HIM HOW PEOPLE SHUCKING DIED IN THE MAZE. (all of them ignored the question) And he'd taken one look at the Sloppers' job and walked away without saying a word. Alby could throw himself in a ditch for all Newt cared; there no way in bloody hell he was doing any of these jobs.

He groaned again and dragged both hands down his face. "I hate my life," he mumbled through his fingers.

A smooth voice startled him. "Join the club, man."

Newt moved his hands and glanced over to see who was talking. To his surprise, a pair of hard-muscled, tall guys were sitting cross-legged next to him: Runners. One of them was the redhead he'd seen earlier, who had careless, spiky hair, striking green eyes, and a tiny splash of freckles across his nose. The other was stockier, and had almost-black, brown hair that flopped in curls over his forehead, paired with equally dark eyes. They both looked at him with open friendliness, something he hadn't expected in Runners. Maybe that was just because Minho seemed like such a jerk though.

Newt propped himself up on his elbows. "I thought you guys liked it here," he protested. "Liked the Maze, I mean. You are Runners, after all."

The redhead snorted. "You kidding me?" he asked. "The whole reason we're Runners is because we want out of the Maze." He gave his friend a wry glance. "I swear to God, Greenies get dumber every time they show up."

His friend chucked a handful of grass at him in reply. "Aw, shut up, Max. You were dumber than a freaking rock when you showed up."

"Don't throw crap at me, Brian!" Max retorted, shielding his eyes as the grass clumps hit his shoulders. "I was not dumb!"

"You don't remember what happened when you became a Runner?" Brian asked devilishly. He then broke into a high-pitched voice, which Newt assumed was a girly imitation of Max. "'Oh, Minho, I hate running, can't we just send a note down the Box and ask for a map? And while you're at it, can we slow down when we run tomorrow? My brain can't keep up when we go faster than power-walking.'" He cracked up at his own joke and Newt couldn't help but smile too.

Max's eyes were wide in indignation. "I do NOT sound like that!" he protested. "And I never said any of those things!"

"'Oh, and by the way, Minho,'" Brian went on, in that same, raucous voice, "'my legs are soooo tired from jogging the whole way to the Doors this morning; could you carry me, cuz you're soooooo stronnnng?'"

"SHUT UP I NEVER SAID THAT AND FOR THE FIFTEENTH TIME I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH ON MINHO," Max babbled, blushing horribly.

Newt and Brian were laughing hysterically now, Brian grinning broadly at the new kid and Newt beaming back. He decided that he liked the Runners well enough. If the rest of them were anything like these two, he'd be happy to call them friends. He sat up the whole way, cross-legged like them. "So, do you guys go out every day?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yup," Brian nodded, still chortling a bit. "Every day, before anyone wakes up, we're outta here."

"Why? What do you do out there?"

"Run the Maze all day," he answered. "Looking for patterns and changes. There are a lot of ways the Maze moves overnight. Whoever put us here made it so that the walls rearrange themselves, so it's never the same."

Newt felt something cold inside of him. "You think someone put us here then?" he asked warily. "On purpose?"

Brian shrugged. "We must be here for a reason. None of us remember anything except our names and that we need to survive. The Glade is safe, for now, but I think we can all assume that if there's a Maze around us, someone must want us to solve it."

Max tore at the grass, eyelids lowered. "I just wanna get out," he muttered. "Get out, give the shanks a piece of my mind, and then find somewhere to sleep that isn't cold or hard or surrounded by idiots."

"Yeah, if you had it your way, you'd sleep in the Map Room with Minho every night," Brian joked. He then laughed and ducked as Max threw a rock at him.

Newt tipped his head to one side. "What's up with him, anyway?" he asked.

Brian raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Who, Minho?"

"Yeah," Newt replied. "He seems kinda intense."

Max snorted. "Oh, yeah. He's intense all right."

"I bet he is, lover-boy."

"SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP."

"Okay, okay, I'm done now," Brian chuckled, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. Then he rested his elbows on his knees and turned to Newt. "Anyway, yeah, Minho's the toughest shank in here. He has to be, if he's Keeper of the Runners. He'll be as annoying and sarcastic as hell one minute and the next, he'll be throwing you out in the Maze, if you get on his bad side."

Newt's shocked mind clung to one word. "Wait, he's Keeper?"

"Uh-huh."

Newt fell silent for a moment. Minho was Keeper of the Runners. Did that mean he could maybe see if Newt could become a Runner? Brian's voice jerked him out of his thoughts. "Why're you asking? Do you want to be a Runner?"

"I don't know," Newt admitted. He stared into the fire, watching the sparks flying up into the velvet skies. "I sucked at every other bloody job in here. Alby's gonna be ticked when he finds out, if he didn't already. The only thing I didn't try yet is being a Runner. Maybe it's what I'm supposed to do."

Brian scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "Yeah, maybe," he relented hesitantly. "But it takes a lot..."

"You kinda look like a Runner," Max put in encouragingly, turning pink as he took in Newt's slim, but lithely powerful body. Then he caught sight of something over Newt's shoulder and turned even pinker. "Oh, no."

Brian followed his friend's gaze and broke into an evil grin. Newt had two seconds to wonder what they were talking about, and then a guy with familiar, messily spiked hair and broad shoulders dropped onto the ground beside him. With a strange little flutter in his stomach, he recognized Minho.

Minho glanced over at Max and arched an eyebrow. "Max, you look like you're about to shuck Gally," he remarked, speaking of the way Max was bright red by now.

Max spluttered in embarrassment while Brian prodded him in the ribs with his elbow. "Oh, he wants to shuck someone all right," he teased darkly. Max scooped up a handful of sandy dirt and proceeded to dump it all on Brian's head. Brian swore and scrambled to move away as Max rubbed the sand in more with both hands.

Minho's dark chuckle rippled through the air. "I knew that shank had a crush on me anyway," he murmured with an amused half-grin. He was speaking to Newt, which caught the other boy off-guard.

Newt felt pleased that the Keeper was talking to him, and anxious, and like butterflies were swarming in his stomach. He had no idea why though and maybe that should've bothered him.

Minho's mocha-dark eyes raked over him once, critically. "So you're the Greenie, huh?" he asked, with a touch of sarcasm. "Did Alby show you all the ways the Glade sucks yet?"

"Yeah," Newt sighed, not wishing to be reminded of it again. "He did."

"Which job did you pick?"

"None."

Minho let out a bark of laughter. "None?" he echoed, cracking a half-smile. "That's great, man."

Brian spoke up unexpectedly. "He's thinking he wants to be a Runner, Minho."

Newt's eyes flicked to Brian, a bit accusingly, then back to Minho. "A Runner?" Minho asked, surprised. He studied Newt again. "Gotta death wish, Greenie? No one chooses to be a Runner. You have to be chosen."

"By who?" Newt asked.

"Me," Minho replied, and pretty much let Newt know that he was screwed with that one word.

Great. So he couldn't be a Runner. Nothing about life in the Glade could get any worse. Could it?


	3. Part 2

Okay, so I know I said this would be a two or three part story. But it might be just a little more than that. I don't know yet. But anyway, thank you for the reviews! Glad you like it so far. Here's part two, which I had so much fun writing :)

Part Two

It was morning, and Newt was staring into the Maze.

No one else stirred in the Glade, not this early. Dawn light was just beginning to peek over the soaring rock walls, casting a creamy glow on the cracked stone. The breeze carried a promise of fair weather. But Newt wasn't worried about the weather today. He was standing before the gaping doorway of the Maze. He didn't exactly know why. He had woken up painfully early, had seen that no one else was awake and moving yet, and so had come here. He couldn't help it.

He was curious.

What could out in the Maze? There had to be something out there; he'd heard all sorts of awful noises last night, grinding sounds that echoed from the walls. And only Runners, the strongest, were allowed in there. So what was so dangerous that the other Gladers weren't permitted past the walls?

Newt took a step closer, until he was nearly at the threshold. He could see down a long corridor in front of him, that seemed to go straight until it split into two directions yards away. Dark ivy spidered up the walls, and a few vines hung across the hall like dangling snakes. It all had a very ominous feel to it. But he found himself taking another step forward anyway. What's out there that they won't tell me about? he wondered. What're they hiding?

Footsteps sounded from behind him, thudding against the sandy ground in front of the Maze entrance. He started, thinking he was about to be caught by Alby. He turned to look over his shoulder, preparing an excuse. To his slight relief, it wasn't Alby, but Max that jogged toward him. The redheaded Runner was wearing a curious harness of leather over his beige, buttoned shirt. It was designed like the straps of a backpack; it crossed over his chest and held a set of sharp knives in sewn-on sleeves. He skidded to a halt beside Newt, surprise and unease in his face.

"Uh, hey, Newt," he greeted, somewhat breathlessly. "What're you doing here?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going in," Newt reassured him. He knew that was what the Runner was thinking. "I'm just looking."

"Okay. As long as you don't go in, I guess you're all right." Max gazed up at the towering doorway. "Kinda scary, huh?"

"Yeah," Newt replied. "But you'd know more about that than me."

"Can't argue with that."

They stared into the winding halls for a few seconds. It felt as though they were almost taunting the Gladers, daring them to step inside. Newt edged forward a little bit more. "So, what's out there anyway?" he asked.

"Er...nothing, during the day," Max answered, watching anxiously as Newt inched closer. "But at night, the Grievers wake up."

Newt wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar word. "Grievers?" he echoed. "What's a Griever?"

"I don't actually know," Max admitted. "No one's ever seen one and—you know, you shouldn't get THAT close, Newt."

Newt was at the threshold now, standing between the massive doors. "Why not?" he asked boldly. "You said the Grievers only come out at night, right?"

"Yeah, but it's still not a good idea to mess around here."

"I'm not gonna go all the way in. Just a few steps..."

"Dude, you're not even allowed to do that much."

Newt twisted to give an unworried smile over his shoulder. "Max, I'll be fine," he assured him. "You don't have to bloody panic. No one's gonna know..." He stepped farther into the yawning corridor of the Maze.

It happened extraordinarily fast. Newt heard pounding feet, Max's warning cry, and then two hands fisted roughly in the front of his hoodie. He choked on a gasp as someone slammed him up against the stone wall. Through his startled mess of thoughts, he recognized the sharply attractive face of Minho. The Keeper's obsidian-dark eyes were smoldering. "What do you think you're doing, Greenie?" he demanded harshly. "Last time I checked, you're not a Runner."

Newt gritted his teeth as Minho kept him pinned. "I was just...looking," he bit out. Anger at the stupid Keeper made him defiant.

"Yeah?" Minho asked nastily. "Well, you're done looking."

Max raised his hand in protest. "Minho..."

"No, I want this shuck-face to learn his lesson," Minho snapped. He turned back to Newt, their face inches apart now. "You wouldn't last a day in there, shank. Not a day. Now get your wannabe Runner ass back in the Glade, before I feed you to the Grievers."

Newt clenched his jaw. Maybe he was being angry or just plain stupid, but he met Minho's glare with one of his own. "I'd like to see you try," he growled.

Max's jaw dropped in shock. His green gaze flicked from Minho to Newt and back again. A tense silence fell over the three of them.

Minho glowered at Newt like he was seriously considering snapping the blonde's legs in half. Up this close, Newt could see tiny golden flecks in Minho's eyes and sense the steely, corded muscle in his body. Something suspiciously close to a smirk quirked Minho's mouth. "Huh," he said thoughtfully. "You've got guts, Greenie, I'll give you that." He released Newt at last, and took a step back. He glanced at Max. "Let's go. I'm done wasting time."

Max wisely agreed and hurried past them into the Maze. Newt tugged at the hem of his hoodie, frowning at Minho as he backed up into the Glade again. The Keeper started to turn away, then paused, glancing back. He pointed threateningly at Newt, but with a half-smirk on his face. "And don't test me again, shank. You're lucky you're cute, or I would've plowed you into the ground right there." Then he was gone, leaving Newt astonished, and flustered, and just a bit happy inside.

-o-o-o-

The happiness did not last as long as he hoped it would.

"Hey, Greenie! You wanna stop sleeping and HELP ALREADY?"

Gally was scowling blackly at Newt, contempt in his icy eyes. He stood next to a fat tree stump, with rough, peeling bark. He, Newt, and another Glader named Nate were trying to uproot it to make more clear space in the Glade.

Newt jerked from where he'd been sitting a few feet away, daydreaming. "Huh?" he asked stupidly.

"Okay, I dunno what you think you're doing over there," Gally began, hefting the impressive machete he was using to pry at the stump, "but you need to wake UP, and GET OVER HERE before I beat your ASS."

Nate rolled his eyes, sandy-colored bangs flipping down across his forehead. "Leave the new kid alone, Gally. He's still getting used to it here." He knelt down and shoved his knife into the base of the stump, pushing hard to try and loosen the thing from the ground. So far, it wasn't working well. The bottom of the tree stump had been dug at with shovels and knives, to help get it loose. Now they just had to lift it up and out of the ground. It was a lot easier said than done.

Gally scoffed. "Whatever, you don't have to 'get used to it here' to be able to get a damn tree stump out of the ground."

Newt had to admit that that was a pretty fair point. Even if Gally was kinda a jerk. He clambered grudgingly to his feet. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," he sighed. He pulled a ten-inch-bladed knife from a leather case strapped to his back; Alby had given it to him earlier, claiming you needed to have a good blade to work with around the Glade. Newt had thanked him with feeling, because the knife felt good in his hands, comfortable. He felt better having a weapon of his own around here.

"When do you think the Runners are coming back?" he asked, sparing a glance toward the open doors of the Maze.

"Not for a little while," Nate replied. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his dark T-shirt.

Gally sent Newt a withering look. "Does it look like I care?" was his response.

Newt chose not to reply to that. Instead, he bent down beside Nate and jabbed the point of his knife under a section of the trunk. Nate did the same and the two of them pushed down hard on the handles. Newt's arms strained with the effort. Nate swore under his breath. But the stump still barely budged. This was going to take all afternoon.

"So, uh, what's your name again?" Nate asked, as they worked at the stubborn stump together.

"Greenie," Gally answered. "His name is Greenie."

Newt blew a lock of blonde hair out of his face. "You wanna shut up?"

"You wanna WORK?"

Newt really wanted to punch him. He looked back at Nate. "My name's Newt," he said.

"Newt. Okay. I'll try to remember that. I always have trouble getting the newbies' names right." Nate's mouth lifted in a half-grin. "You like the Glade so far?"

"I guess." The Glade was growing on him now. Sure, he hadn't found something he was good at yet, but he helped out with odd jobs around the place. He liked feeling useful. "I mean, I'd like to get out. See what's in the Maze."

"Don't we all," Nate agreed sarcastically.

Gally gave a bark of laughter. "Yeah, good luck with THAT. Tell the Grievers I said hi, if you make it that far."

"Aren't you just a ball of sunshine today?" Nate asked. Teasing lit his deep mahogany eyes.

"Shut up, Nate."

Nate chuckled, proud that he'd gotten a rise out of Gally, and held out a hand for a high-five. Newt grinned at the unexpected gesture and slapped the other boy's hand. Maybe the Glade really wasn't as bad as he'd thought before.

Gally suddenly groaned in exasperation. "I am so sick of this tree stump!" He kicked at the thing, which of course, stayed still.

"It is a pretty stubborn son of a bitch," Nate agreed, resting his elbow on his knee, his knife dangling in his fingers.

Gally raised his machete above his head. "I'm gonna hack the crap out of it."

Newt lifted his arms to stop him. "Wait, wait, wait," he cut in. "We don't have to go crazy. Maybe if we all stuck our knives in at the same side and tried to pry it up, it would help loosen it more."

"Might work," Nate shrugged.

"All right," Gally conceded. "Let's try it."

They circled around the stump until they stood side by side. Newt drove his blade in first, between the ground and the stump, and Nate and Gally did the same. Their knives were only inches apart. Newt braced himself. "You guys ready?" he asked. At their nods, he tightened his grip on the knife handle. "Okay...now!" With grunts of effort, they all pushed downward as hard as they could. A new cracking noise sounded from the tree stump. Slowly, it started to tip, pulling up old, dead roots and soil as it went.

"It's working!" Nate exclaimed, excited that the new Greenie had thought of a good plan.

"Thank GOD!" Gally gasped, and the other two Gladers laughed.

Newt felt the stump shift another inch. He pushed harder. Just a little bit more and it would tip over...just a little more...

That was when he glimpsed movement from the Maze out of the corner of his eye. And he saw Brian, Max, an unknown Runner, and Minho all file out of the doorway. All of them were sweating, exhausted. Max's shirt was soaked and Brian was pulling his pack off. Minho's shirt was unbuttoned the whole way, showing off the sculpted perfection of his abs. He snagged a water bottle from the unfamiliar Runner and dumped the whole thing on his head. Newt stared dumbly as tiny streams of water snaked down Minho's neck and chest, gleaming in his tousled hair. Oh. My. Shucking. God.

Just then, the stump gave a loud snap-crack and toppled over. Dirt sprayed up in its wake. It jerked Newt back to reality. Gally and Nate cheered as though they'd won the lottery, pumping their fists in the air. Then they heard the buzzing. They stopped. Gally cocked his head. "What the hell...?" Newt squinted into the ragged hole that had been cut out of the stump. What was that moving in there?

The buzzing intensified. As they watched in horror, an ugly, black-and-yellow cloud rose up from the fallen stump. "Oh...SHIT," Nate muttered.

As if on cue, the bee swarm swelled and rushed straight for them. "CRAP CRAP CRAP RUN RUN RUN!" Gally yelled, shoving Newt and Nate away.

The three of them turned and ran for it. It was kind of a comical sight, the three hysterical boys running full tilt across the Glade, with an enraged swarm of bees behind them. Newt had no idea where they were going or how they were going to escape. All he knew was that there was no way in hell he was stopping.

From the entrance to the Maze, the Runners looked on in faint amusement as the three boys yelled and swore and stumbled. Brian scratched the back of his neck, still panting from running. "And this," he said grandly, "is why I love this place."

"At least they're fast enough to not get killed yet," Max commented, unbuttoning his shirt. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

Ben, the third Runner, propped his hands thoughtfully on his hips. "That one looks like he could be a Runner," he remarked. "He's faster than Gally, at least."

Brian blinked. "Which one?"

"The blonde one," Ben replied, pointing. "The Greenie. What's his name?"

Max piped up then. "Newt."

Minho suddenly glanced up. "What about Newt?"

Brian bobbed his head toward where the three panicking boys were careening across the grass. "Ben thinks Newt could be a Runner," he explained. He caught Max nodding in agreement and cast his eyes upward, as though asking for strength from God. "And Max looks like he's got the hots for him."

"I do not!" Max argued hotly. Then he lowered his voice. "I'M not the one that said he was cute." He and Brian then looked pointedly at their Keeper.

Minho ignored them. He turned away to watch Nate, Gally, and Newt hurtling off for the forest, making sure the other Runners couldn't see his smile.

"Please tell me we're losing them!" Nate yelled, as the trio exploded into the woods in a blast of leaves. They weaved clumsily between the oaks and maples, kicking up grass.

"RUN KEEP GOING SHUCK CRAP RUN DAMMIT!" Gally shouted incoherently.

Newt risked a glance over his shoulder and had time to see the horde of bees closing in. Right before a small, but very noticeable spike of fire ignited in his neck. "Bloody HELL!" he swore, and slapped at his neck. He hissed as he felt another sting at his collarbone.

A few feet away, Nate yelped, and wildly flailed his arms around his head. "Oh, shuck, that hurts!"

"You think?!" Newt shouted back, as another bee attacked his jaw.

"NATE I DON'T THINK WE LOST THEM!" Gally's voice rose from somewhere to their right. A muffled thump followed, and his cries of pain filled the air as the bees descended on the three helpless boys.

If this was a NORMAL day in the Glade, then Newt definitely decided that he wanted OUT.

~Later, After a Long, Painful Experience~

Newt was sitting in one of the unoccupied rooms back at the Homestead, waiting for one of the Med-jacks to finish treating Gally and Nate. The trio had staggered back after being brutally swarmed in the woods, then breaking into Frypan's kitchen and dousing their stings in water from his supply of water bottles and the sinks. Gally had gotten an awful amount of stings on his face and thus had stuck his head into the sink (much to Frypan's dismay). The cook caught them, of course, and chased them out with a pan held above his head. And that was when they ended up here. Needless to say, Clint and Jeff weren't very pleased to find three drenched, badly stung, pissed-off boys standing at their door.

Newt sat at the edge of a bed, staring at the floor between his boots. He was trying desperately to ignore the throbbing of the stings on his skin. Most of them were on his collarbone and neck. A couple determined bees had managed to crawl down the back of his hoodie and into his tank top though; he could feel the pain of his clothes rubbing against those stings. His hair was still damp and so were his clothes, after the Great Water Theft over at Frypan's. He was also exhausted.

What a freakin fantastic day.

Newt raked his fingers through his hair. "That was bloody awful," he muttered.

"That was hilarious," someone said from the doorway.

Newt didn't have to look up to know who it was. He knew from the low mischief of the voice, and the way his pulse sped up crazily. He released a long breath and glanced up at Minho. "Hey, Minho," he greeted flatly. So nice to see that while Newt looked like crap, Minho was effortlessly stunning in his jeans and denim shirt. He'd buttoned it up by now, but only halfway. His hair was spiky and adorably mussed from when he'd poured water on it.

Newt was horrified to admit that he seemed to be developing a crush on the Keeper of the Runners. How shucking wonderful.

"Beestings, grass, and Frypan's dirty water," Minho observed, sauntering farther into the room. "Not the look I would've picked for you, Greenie."

"Are you here just to annoy the crap out of me?" Newt asked drily. "Because if you are, I'm going to stab you." He held up his knife, which was lying in its case on the bed next to him.

"Wow, that escalated quickly," Minho remarked. "Already trying to stab people, and you've only been here, what, two days? Three days?"

"And I've already been harassed by you, Gally, and a swarm of bees."

"You're on a roll, Greenie."

Newt shot him a dark look. "Stop calling me that."

"What, Greenie?" Minho asked innocently. There was a wooden chair in the room, a few feet away. He hooked his ankle around one of its legs and dragged it over so he could sit. He faced Newt with his trademark, devil-may-care smirk. "What d'you want me to call you? Moron? Shank? Shuck-face?"

"How about none of the above?" Newt sighed in resignation. There was no beating the cocky Runner. "Never mind."

Minho's gaze glimmered. He rested his elbows on his knees. "Hey," he said, more serious now. "Newt."

His voice, forming Newt's name, was glorious. Newt fought the urge to ask him to say his name again. "What?"

"I think you could be a Runner."

Newt's jaw dropped. "W—what?"

"You heard me." Minho reclined in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his neck. "I saw you running today. You know, from the bees." He snickered and Newt growled. "You're pretty damn fast. Even Ben admitted it, and Ben doesn't like recruiting newbies."

Newt was still staring in shock. "So...you're saying I can be a Runner now?" he asked, the hope growing inside of him.

"If you were listening, you'd know that yes, that's what I'm saying."

Newt felt himself beam at the Keeper in relieved happiness. Finally, he could be something that wouldn't have him trapped in here. He wanted to run and tell Brian and Max right now and hug Minho. He settled for meeting his gaze. "Thanks, Minho."

Minho brushed it off. "Don't thank me yet," he warned. "You don't even know what this job's like. It kinda sucks."

"Whatever, it can't be worse than—" Newt broke off with a gasp as he shifted and a sting on his back grazed his shirt.

"Oh yeah!" Minho snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot..." He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a little can of what appeared to be ointment. He held it up triumphantly. "Jeff told me to give this to you for your stings. Sorry I didn't remember."

"You shuck-face," Newt grumbled. THAT would've been nice to have two minutes ago. He swiped the can away from Minho and plopped it down on the bed beside him. Wincing at the pain, he shrugged out of his hoodie. He could reach the worst of the stings, and his shoulders slumped in relief as he rubbed the ointment into them. But he couldn't get the ones on his back. Uncertainly, he glanced at Minho. "Er...Minho? I, uh..."

Minho laughed. "You got them on your back, don't you?" he asked gleefully.

"Shut up, and just help me," Newt snapped, cheeks flaming.

Minho lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," he replied, standing up.

Somewhat nervous, Newt slipped his tank top off. He looked down at the floor as Minho sat beside him on the bed and plucked the can from the sheets. It felt very strange to be shirtless in front of him. Newt forgot all about that, however, when he felt Minho's fingers on his skin. The ointment soothed the godawful burning. Newt made a soft sound of appreciation as Minho worked on each sting.

"Oh—wait," Minho said suddenly. "You missed one right here." His fingertips touched Newt's jaw, just by his chin. The action made Newt turn his head toward him. They looked at each other. Minho was close enough that Newt could catch a hint of his addicting scent. His heart raced, and he locked eyes with Minho. For a wild instant, he thought Minho was going to close the distance between them. Then he broke eye contact and the moment was gone.

It was then that he realized just how big his crush on the striking Keeper was.

And just how screwed he was if anyone found out about it.


	4. Part 3

Part Three

Newt showed up at the doorway to the Map Room early the next morning, as he'd been instructed to do. After a long conversation with Minho and Alby last night, it had become official: he was a Runner. Alby was surprised that the new kid had been chosen so soon, but then he smiled and congratulated Newt on his new job. Now Newt was waiting outside a closed door, at some horrid predawn hour, for his "training" or whatever to begin. He shifted his feet and thought about knocking on the door again when suddenly, it swung open. Brian's face greeted him from inside. He beamed when he saw Newt and pushed the door open wider. "Hey, Newt!" he exclaimed. "Ready for your first day as a Runner?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Newt replied, smiling back.

"Good! Now, don't be shy, come in! But uh..." Brian leaned in as though sharing some secret. "Don't question what you see in there. Behind this door, the Runners are very different people." He had a playful curve to his mouth when he said it, like he couldn't wait for Newt to see what his friends were really like.

"Considering what I've already been through here, I don't think anything else could surprise me," Newt deadpanned.

Brian stepped to the side and swept his arm toward the inside of the Map Room with an air of bravado. "Then step right in!" he encouraged. "Enter the realm of the Runners!" Newt entered the room and Brian shut the door behind him, blocking the early-morning chill. Then he and Newt stood there and observed the somewhat-organized chaos that was the Map Room. Newt had thought he wouldn't be surprised. He was mistaken.

The first thing he saw was Max. He was messing around with some odd device in the corner; the word boombox surfaced from the cluster of Newt's memories. Max banged on the thing with his fist a couple times and every so often, a burst of sound would squawk from the speakers. "Dammit, how do you work this thing?" he demanded in irritation.

An unfamiliar guy with curled springs of raven hair and skin as dusky as Alby's glanced up from where he'd been drawing something on a piece of paper. "Max, for the sixteenth time today," he began slowly, "none of us know how to work a boombox, nor do we care to know."

Max smacked the boombox again. "Oh, yeah, real helpful, Dee," he snapped. "You are a true friend."

"My name is Daniel!" the guy flashed back in annoyance. He twisted around in his chair to make his point clear, caramel-colored eyes flaring. "Not Dee, or Deedee, or D-dawg. DANIEL."

"Whatever you say, Dannyman."

Daniel growled, as a low snicker sounded from another part of the room. Newt glanced over and his breath caught when he saw Minho; the Keeper was reclining in a chair, black boots crossed on the table in the center of the room. He was reading something on a sheet of paper and seemed completely okay with the fact that he was gorgeously shirtless. He had forgotten about the paper for the moment. "Dan, you have to know by now that NO ONE HERE is EVER going to call you by your real name," he pointed out. "No one. Ever. Not once."

"You suck," Daniel quipped simply. Then he huffed out a breath and pulled at the collar of his shirt. "And godDAMN, it's hot in here! Can't we open a window?"

"Nope," Minho replied. "Gotta keep the maps a secret from outsiders."

"Well, if it wasn't hot as frickin hell, you could put a shirt on. I think Max is drooling."

"SHUT UP DEE!" Max yelled, then he gave a squeak as the boombox suddenly blasted to life. Newt almost covered his ears, the music was so loud. It was some song he'd never heard before, but it pricked at his memory. The lyrics pumped out loudly, with a blaring background of trumpets and saxophone.

"Don't believe me, just watch, don't believe me, just watch..." The melody was fast, always moving. It was a song that worked its way inside you.

Max broke into a broad grin. "Aw yeah, this is my jam!" he announced. Daniel whooped in agreement. He jumped up and ran over, and the two started dancing like idiots. "C'mon, Minho! Don't be a wimp!"

"You both dance like morons," Minho informed them, but he slid his feet from the table and stood up. Max and Daniel cheered, as the three of them all lined up side by side next to the boombox.

"All right, you gotta get into it," Daniel instructed, cracking his knuckles. "You can't just dance, you gotta DANCE. You know, FLOW with the music."

"What the hell?" Max arched an eyebrow.

"Just follow my lead," Daniel ordered. Then he listened to the song, waiting for the instruments to crescendo again. "Okay...now!"

At his cue, the three Runners jumped in the dance moves at the same time, moving their hips to the beat. Brian cracked up when he saw it. Max couldn't do a body-roll to save his life, Daniel was doing the move as ridiculously as he could, and to Newt, Minho positively radiated sexiness. An uncharacteristic, carefree grin lit his face, and he danced as though he'd been doing it all his life. Newt felt his heart melt and drop into a puddle on the floor.

Max glanced up at Brian's cackling. "Hey, the newbie's here!" he hollered. He quickly punched the OFF button on the boombox. Uptown Funk halted abruptly, blanketing the room in silence.

Daniel waved cheerfully. "Hey, dude! Sorry for scarring you with Max's awful dancing on your first day! My name's—"

"Danny," Max cut him off. "His name's Danny."

"Dan the Man," Minho put in, grinning.

"Dee-boy."

"Danmeister."

"The Big D."

Minho snorted, and Daniel glared in outrage. "The big WHAT?"

Looking on from their place by the door, Brian and Newt exchanged a glance. "You learn to love them," Brian promised solemnly.

-o-o-o-

"Okay, so here's the section we'll be looking at today." Minho spread out a sheet of paper on the table, with what looked like paths sketched onto it. He had shooed the other Runners out of the room earlier, saying he had to teach Newt without their constant, crazy distractions. There was quite a bit of complaining, but none of them tried to stay; they headed outside into the cooler air of a midday spring breeze. It WAS pretty hot in the Map Room. Newt managed for about ten more minutes before he finally pulled off his hoodie, leaving him in his tank top. They needed some air conditioning in here or something, if they couldn't open the windows.

Newt bent over slightly to peer at the map in front of him. "I have no idea what I'm looking at," he told Minho matter-of-factly.

"I knew that," Minho replied. "Shut up, shank, and I'll tell you what you're looking at." He flashed a brief grin to let Newt know he was kidding. Then he pointed at the map again. "This is one of the inner sections of the Maze. Sometimes a few Grievers'll wake up during the day, but if you stick close to the Glade, you probably won't see one. It's also a lot simpler to navigate. Which is why I'm starting you out there, to see how you do."

"Okay..." Newt studied the map with new understanding. Excitement buzzed inside of him. He was going to go into the Maze, finally.

Minho turned away from the table. "Before you start running, you're gonna need one of these though..." He knelt down in front of a squat, wooden chest against the wall. He pried it open and dug around inside for a minute. Newt heard strange clattering from inside as things were moved around. Then Minho straightened up, holding one of the leather harnesses the other Runners wore. Blades of different shapes and sizes studded the front of it. He held it out to Newt with a half-smile. "You're gonna need more weapons out in the Maze," he explained. "Although that knife of yours is pretty impressive."

"Thanks," Newt said absently, taking the harness from him.

Minho braced one hand on the table, lazily letting it take his weight. "So, we're gonna head out with Brian and Max in about five minutes," he explained. "Normally we don't go out this late, but we made an exception because it's your first day. We're gonna check out some of the inner rings and..."

His next words were lost to Newt because Minho was facing him fully now, and was still shirtless. He was nothing but sleek muscle and oh so touchable, olive-toned skin. Newt found his eyes traveling down Minho's stomach, the whole way down to where his abs disappeared into the low-hanging waistband of dark jeans. Hot DAMN.

"Earth to Newt." Minho snapped his fingers and Newt nearly had a stroke. His eyes shot up to Minho's face, in time to see the knowing smirk pulling at the Keeper's lips. Minho arched an eyebrow and pointed at his own face. "My eyes are up here."

Newt's cheeks flamed. "I knew that!" he spluttered. "I was just—I mean, I was—You were...Shut up."

Minho's smirk grew and he laughed. "You crack me up, Newt," he remarked, humor warming his words. Then he started past Newt. "Now let's go. I want to get out there before next year. Plus, Brian and Max are waiting and they—oh crap." He glanced around, hands on his hips. "I have no idea where I left my shirt."

Newt hardly thought about it. "Here," he offered, holding up his hoodie. "I'm not gonna wear this harness thing over a hoodie anyway."

Minho took the hoodie and held it gingerly between his hands, scrutinizing it. "Will this even fit me?" he asked doubtfully. Because while Newt was certainly not shrimpy, he was not 98% muscle, like Minho. Newt gave a no-clue gesture with his hands at his shoulders. Minho shrugged with one shoulder in response and tugged the hoodie over his head. It was a bit tight around the shoulders, but the v-shaped neckline dipped down to show his collarbone. The cream color was a perfect contrast with his tanned skin. Minho had managed to go from dead-sexy to downright adorable in two seconds flat.

"Ha; it smells like you," Minho chuckled, making Newt stare as he nosed the hoodie's sleeve, inhaling. His eyes closed. "Where did you get cinnamon...?" Then he seemed to catch himself. "Never mind. We gotta go. C'mon." With that, he abruptly started for the door, snagging his weapons as he went. Newt took a deep, steadying breath before he followed.

The first thing Brian said was this: "um. Why are you wearing Newt's clothes?"

Max just gaped in stunned silence.

Newt focused on his shoes and Minho casually shoved his hands into the hoodie pocket. "No time to explain that," he answered shortly. He pointed at the open doorway yawning in front of them. "Maze. Running. Grievers. You know the drill. Teach the new kid." He patted Brian on the back. "Brian, I'm putting you in charge of showing Newt the ropes. Max and I are gonna remap the inner rings because Dan the Man did it the first time and he cannot draw to save his life. Everybody good? Good. Let's go."

With that, he raced off into the Maze. Max, Brian, and Newt all followed close behind, picking up the pace fast and flashing past the stone doorway. Newt couldn't help but gaze around him as they ran down the long corridor. The walls stretched up into the blue sky, masked with ivy and cracks. They were impossibly huge from the inside, the walls of a great prison. He caught a flash of lettering as he dashed around a turn next to Brian: WICKED. He blinked in puzzlement. What in the world was WICKED?

"Hey...Brian," he puffed, speeding up to run beside the other boy. "What's—?"

"WICKED?" Brian guessed. He flashed a breathless smile. "That's the first...question I asked too. We don't know."

"You don't know?" Newt repeated. How could they not know, if it was written on the walls of the Maze, their home?

"Nope," Brian answered, panting as they took another turn. They'd split up with Max and Minho by now and were on their own in the dim corridors. "We think...it might be...who put us here."

"Huh?"

"What else...could it be? It's written on...everything here."

Newt couldn't argue with that reasoning, so he stayed quiet after that. Plus, his lungs were killing him from trying to talk while running. They continued in silence for a while, taking the twisting turns with hardly any thought; it was obvious that Brian knew what he was doing. He advised Newt on how to take notes on the winding hallways, tricks for memorizing the different patterns of the Maze, and how to pace yourself so you didn't pass out after half an hour. Newt tried to listen to all of it and did his best to remember. He was going to be a Runner for a long time, after all. At least however long it would take to find a way out of the Maze. Brian had explained to him that so far, they hadn't found any real clues. Then again, they weren't entirely done mapping the Maze; there was one final section they hadn't gotten to yet. But since Newt was a new kid, and it was getting late, they wouldn't explore that far today.

They had been running for about half an hour when a glimpse of something dark caught Newt's eye. Digging his heels into the ground, he skidded to a clumsy stop. His chest heaved with every breath as he peered down a short corridor to his right. It stretched forward for roughly twenty yards before ceasing at a dead end. The back wall of the hallway had been broken, a gaping hole of shadow yawning from the crumbled rock. It was so dark, Newt had no idea what could be inside. "Hey, Brian!" he called out. "Can you come see this?"

Brian stopped a few yards away and jogged back, panting raggedly. He speared his fingers through his curls and followed Newt's gaze. His expression darkened. "Oh, we're not supposed to go near that," he told Newt seriously.

"Why not?" Newt asked.

"Dunno. Daniel found it one day, showed Alby and Minho, and for some reason, they said we're not allowed near it."

"You kidding me? They won't even tell you WHY you can't go near it?"

Brian shook his head. "No, but when Alby or your Keeper says something, you listen," he explained. "No matter what."

"That's stupid," Newt remarked. He didn't take his eyes off the ominous hole in front of him. "They should give you a reason; it doesn't make sense to stay away from some hole in the wall." He started forward, down the hall. The shadows of the high walls fell over him as he ventured in deeper.

"Newt, what're you doing?" Brian asked from behind, sounding fearful.

Newt didn't even look back over his shoulder. "I'm just gonna check it out," he replied, unworried.

"Did you not just hear what I said?" Brian demanded. "You can't go back there!"

"Don't panic, I'll be fine," Newt reassured him. He kept walking, the hole seeming to grow bigger before him. "I want to know what's so dangerous about a hole in a wall."

"Oh my god," Brian muttered, as though there was no hope for the Greenie.

Newt ignored that last comment. He edged closer to the dead end, squinting into the massive break in the stone. He still couldn't make out a thing in there, it was so dark. He was only five feet away now. The quiet that had fallen seemed palpable, a foreboding presence lurking around him. For the first time, he felt a trickle of anxiety snake down his spine. Maybe something wasn't right here after all. He felt as though the air was charged, waiting for something...

Just then, a strange, metallic groan rose from the giant hole. It sounded like two pieces of steel grinding against each other, nasty and ugly. Newt froze, unsure of what to do. His gaze probed the pitch-blackness desperately, but he still saw nothing. Then, he caught sight of a darker form moving against the shadows. It was a hulking figure, something monstrous, its sides heaving like it was...breathing. The gleaming outlines of sharp, awful instruments lifted from its body. It took two seconds for the word Griever to resurface in his mind before the thing heaved itself up and released a blood-chilling shriek.

"NEWT!" Brian shouted, panic lacing his words. "GET OUT OF THERE, NOW!"

Newt staggered back, his limbs slowed by terror. The thing, the Griever, rolled from its cave, showing its ghastly body for the first time. Its skin was gray and slick with moisture, pulsing disgustingly. There was no face that Newt could see. Knives, wicked drills, long blades, and arms of steel studded the creature's body. They clicked and rattled, a dreadful sound. The Griever faced Newt and let loose a wild scream. It echoed all around, making Newt wince and clap his hands over his ears. Through the pain, he saw the Griever raise up one bladed appendage. Ohhhh CRAP.

"NEWT!" Brian yelled again.

Newt didn't have any time to think. He acted. The blade whistled downward and he ducked. The wind from the Griever's arm rushing by tugged at his hair. He looked up as the Griever howled in frustration and began to roll straight for him. "CRAP!" he yelped out loud, and whirled away. He ran for the opening ahead, where Brian waited, gesturing frantically for him to hurry. From behind, he heard the gut-wrenching sounds of the Griever picking up speed. It was chasing him. It was hunting him.

Real terror jolted Newt to his core.

He barreled into Brian, shoving the guy ahead of him. "Go, go, go!"

"No shit!" Brian shot back, and took off back the way they came. They raced full-tilt through the Maze, feet pounding the ground. Their breaths came in gasps, adrenaline urging them to go faster. Behind, the Griever rocketed between the walls faster than Newt thought possible for such a bulky thing. Its multitude of weapons rattled, the sound of bones falling. It wailed again, that same, wounded-animal cry that froze the blood in Newt's veins. What kind of hellish force had created such a thing?

"This way!" Brian ordered, taking a hard right turn. Newt was right on his heels. "Don't stop! We gotta get back to the Glade and the doors'll close before he can get in! Come on!"

They kept running, barely staying ahead of the monster. Then, abruptly, the Griever took a screeching turn, down a side hall away from the two Runners. It disappeared around the bend and left an echo of its ghostly moans. Newt glanced back over his shoulder in astonishment. "Wh—what happened?" he stammered. "Where'd it go?"

Brian waved his arms like a crazy person, gesturing that he didn't give a crap. "Who cares?! Just go! Max and Minho are right there!"

"What?!"

Newt turned his attention ahead of him again, but it was too late. He and Brian crashed straight into Max and Minho. The other two Runners gave loud complaints, stumbling from the impact. Minho caught Newt by the shoulders. "Jesus, Greenie, what're you doing?" he demanded, steadying Newt as he fought for breath. "What happened to you two shanks?"

Brian and Newt both started talking at once, words tumbling over each other in lingering fear. "Maze—running—there was a hole—big—and then boom!—it was HUGE—Griever—why didn't you—chasing us—and now..." they finished, panting, "we're here."

Max glanced back and forth between them. "Uhhhhh..."

"Did you say you saw a Griever?" Minho asked, narrowing his eyes.

Brian and Newt nodded vigorously.

Minho crossed his arms. "Shuck," he muttered. "Stupid things are getting bold."

"Dude, I've never been so stressed in my life," Brian gasped, bending with his hands on his knees. "Oh my god. Seriously. I hate you, Newt."

Minho's gaze flashed to Newt. "This was YOUR fault?" he asked dangerously.

"Um," Newt said lamely. He hadn't planned for this. "Kinda."

Max sent him a you're-so-dead look. Then his eyes suddenly lifted to something behind Newt...and emptied of everything but horror. He inched back jerkily, too scared to speak. Minho looked up too and his eyes widened. "Newt..."

Newt didn't even turn; he didn't have time. All he heard was the clicking of metal and the low, guttural growl building in a creature's throat. He slowly looked back, rigid with dread. The revolting body of the Griever towered over him, snarling from its unseen mouth, a clawed, hand-like limb rearing back over its head. With a screech, the claws shot for him.

"NEWT!"

"OH GOD!"

"MINHO, NO!"

Newt felt two hands grab the front of his shirt as Minho lunged forward. Fast as lightning, he wrenched Newt around and threw him back. The Keeper now stood in the place where Newt had been; the Griever's claws closed over his stomach. It shoved him hard into the wall, issuing a sickening thud and a strangled cry from him. It kept him pinned there, the instruments spinning about its body.

Newt pushed himself up into a sitting position from where he'd landed and watched in horror. The Griever was lifting a pointed, whirring drill. To all the Runners' panic, it aimed the weapon at Minho's chest. Newt scrambled to his feet, heart in his throat. There was a tiny, shivering moment then, where time seemed frozen. Brian and Max yelled, almost pleading the Griever to stop. The shaking scream of the monster filled the Maze. Trapped against the wall, a drill pointed at his chest, Minho met Newt's gaze. It was the first time Newt had ever seen hopeless terror in the Keeper's eyes. Then the world sped up again and the drill sliced down.

Newt didn't think.

He reached back, grabbed the hilt of his blade, and hurled it at the Griever with all the strength in his body. With a piercing clang, the knife pinwheeled through the air and severed the clawed hand from its limb. Now free, Minho slumped against the wall. The drill exploded into the stone above his head, just barely missing him. The Griever yowled its fury.

"GO! NOW!" Max shouted. The Runners dashed in and snatched at Minho, helping him hastily to his feet. Blood stained the sides of the hoodie he wore, marking the places where the claws had dug in. As he stood up, he locked eyes with Newt. Something passed between them. Then, they were all hurrying for the Glade, helping a wounded Minho. The Griever slashed against the rock from behind them, not following, knowing that the doors were about to close.

Its wails followed the Runners all the way back into the Glade.


	5. Part Four

Part Four

It was night. The sky was a navy sheet above the Glade, speckled with the white glow of stars. A chilly breeze swept through the clearing and stirred the trees. In the lonely building, the Homestead, Newt stood at the doorway to a room. He was uncertain and nervous. Ever since the incident in the Maze, the Glade had been in a flurry of activity. Brian and Max met with Alby, discussing why a Griever had been in the inner rings during the daytime. Minho was taken by the Med-jacks to have his wounds treated. And Newt? Newt avoided talking to anyone. It was his fault. He had gone where he wasn't supposed to and he had provoked the Griever. He should've listened to Brian, instead of being so damn curious and stupid. They were all put in danger because of him. Minho was hurt because of him.

He was standing in front of the door that led to Minho's room now. The halls were dim, the only light coming from the windows. His palms sweat. He wiped them on his jeans. What was he going to say? Why was he even here? If he apologized for what he'd done, would Minho throw him out, out of anger? Would he say he was done being a Runner?

Newt inhaled shakily and finally pushed open the door. He was met with the sight of a bed in the corner, a chair, a small desk. And Minho. He was sitting at the window, looking outside into the night. Moonlight spilled over him, touching his skin to blue-silver. He was shirtless; bandages wrapped around his stomach, dotted with scarlet at his sides. His arms were folded over his chest and he didn't turn at Newt's entrance.

Newt gulped. "Minho?" he began hesitantly. "It's me...Newt."

Minho sighed. He still didn't turn. "I knew you were gonna show up here," he muttered. "What d'you want?"

Newt flinched at the bitterness in Minho's voice. "I—I wanted to see you," he replied. He inched into the room. "How're you doing?"

"...it hurts." Minho shifted uncomfortably, fingers brushing his bandaged sides.

"I know," Newt sighed. He crossed the room, snagging a chair from the corner as he did. Tentatively, he slid the chair up beside Minho's. He paused. "You want me to leave?" he asked flatly.

Minho was quiet. Then he released a long breath. "No," he mumbled.

Relief flooded Newt and he sat down next to Minho. Their knees barely brushed.

They gazed into the beautiful night sky for several minutes.

Newt glanced sideways at the Keeper. His heart ached. "I'm sorry, Minho," he said in a small voice.

"You were supposed to listen to Brian," Minho replied harshly. His dark eyes glimmered in the moonlight. "You were supposed to act like a Runner and not a freaking Greenie."

Newt stared at his shoes. "I know."

"You almost got us killed."

"I know."

"I should kick you out of here now."

Newt leaned forward and rested his elbows wearily on his knees. Guilt racked his body. "I know," he whispered. "I expected you to."

Minho closed his eyes. "Yeah," he replied shortly. "Well...I won't. Not yet anyway." He tiredly rubbed at his temples with his fingers.

Newt watched him. The moonlight caressed the powerful muscle of Minho's arms with silvery fingers, and caught in his ebony hair. Even injured, he still moved with a sort of effortless fluidity, unmatched by anyone here. God, he was breathtaking. Newt averted his eyes. "Why did you do it?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Throw me out of the way like that. Let the Griever attack you."

Minho didn't answer. Then he exhaled and mirrored Newt's position, forearms on his knees. "I don't know," he admitted.

Newt searched his face, but his expression was unreadable. "You don't know?" he echoed.

"I was—" Minho broke off, thinking. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt. Especially you. You're the new guy; you don't deserve to die the first day on the job, because of some stupid mistake."

"But if you had died, they would've lost a Keeper," Newt pointed out.

"Yeah. They would have."

"So, isn't that more important than saving me?"

Minho's jaw tightened. "Not to me."

Newt didn't know what to say. Maybe it was the exhaustion of the day, or how vulnerable Minho looked right now. But either way, he had a thought. And once he'd thought of it, it wouldn't leave him. Minho had saved his life. He had made him a Runner and become his friend. Maybe...just maybe...he was falling in love with Minho. He couldn't look away from Minho now. "I wish you hadn't done it," he whispered and Minho's head lifted in surprise.

"You wish I'd let you get killed?" Minho asked, anger creeping into his expression.

"No," Newt corrected him. "I wish you hadn't almost gotten yourself killed." He held Minho's gaze. "I was scared, Minho," he confessed, a tremble moving over his skin. "I was scared that I'd have to watch that thing kill you in front of me."

"It didn't," Minho reminded him.

"I was still terrified, though," Newt replied. "I thought you'd be killed and I'd never tell y—" He stopped himself, realizing that he'd said too much.

Minho's expression changed. "Never tell what?" he asked.

Newt swallowed. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. I'm not talking about it."

Minho rolled his eyes and then buried his face in his hands. He shook his head in frustration. "What do you want from me, Newt?" he asked, muffled.

"I don't want anything from you."

"You're lying."

"..."

Minho gave a bark of laughter and raised his head again, a trace of a smirk on his lips. "I'm not dumb," he said matter-of-factly. "I know, okay? I know that you're like that idiot, Max, having some stupid crush on me. You hide it like crap."

Newt's heartbeat stopped. He tried not to let it show, how much his feelings were hurt by this statement. "I don't know what you're talking about," he managed.

"Oh, you don't? Didn't think I would notice this?" Minho suddenly pushed their chairs up against each other, bracing a hand on the chair behind Newt's back; he pressed their foreheads together, crowding in on Newt. His alluring, sinful scent attacked Newt's senses and left him dizzy. He heard the shuddering gasp he let out. Minho went on in a murmur. "You didn't think I'd notice how nervous you are when I'm close to you? Or the way you look at me? You're too easy to figure out, Newt."

Newt fought to find his breath, horribly tempted by the centimeters between them. He willed his mind to think clearly. "So I have a crush on you," he scoffed, trying to brush it off. "Why do you care? You never cared about Max."

Minho's mouth curved up. "Max isn't you."

Newt stiffened. His pulse jumped at the words. Did that mean that Minho...?

Newt found he was holding his breath.

Minho still didn't move away.

They were like that for a long moment, foreheads touching in the moon's light.

"Why're you doing this?" Newt asked helplessly. "What do you want?"

Minho's face lost all play. His eyelids drooped and his gaze flicked to Newt's mouth. "I want to kiss you," he breathed, like he didn't understand it himself.

A line of fire raced down Newt's spine. His breath caught as Minho gently brushed their noses together, leaning in, his eyes falling shut.

And the door behind them swung open fully, hitting the wall with a bang. Boots sounded against the floor. Minho and Newt pulled back fast, before the distance between them had ever closed. A deep voice spoke: "Hey, Minho. Just came to see if the Med-jacks took care of you. Brian and Max got everyone worried out there." Alby.

"I'm fine," Minho answered curtly. He threw a meaningful scowl at Alby. "You can leave now."

Yes, leave, Newt thought. Alby leave, just go, and when he's gone, Minho, kiss me, kiss me, please. It was almost pitiful, how much he wanted it.

Alby frowned at Minho's shortness and then focused on Newt. He arched an eyebrow. "Hey, Newt," he greeted. "The others were looking for you out there."

Newt blinked. "Okay."

"Might not want to keep them waiting."

Dammit. Newt glanced helplessly at Minho, who smirked sexily and winked. Newt growled under his breath and stood up. "Hold on, I'm coming."

They better be on fire or dying, considering what he was giving up for them.

-o-o-o-

It was another scorching day. The Runners were confined to the Map Room because the heat was too much for them to be out in the Maze. It was not too much, however, for them to be in here, sorting through the maps. Max and Daniel were arguing like a bunch of kids over whether two old maps could be thrown out. They were both standing up, hands braced on the table. Brian sat near Max, elbows on the tabletop, trying to escape the heat by willing it away. It wasn't working. Ben was slouched in a chair at the back of the room, looking half-dead. Newt sat across from Minho, trying and failing to not sneak glances at him.

"I'm telling you, that map is older than me! We can throw it out!"

"Max, that's impossible!"

"Doesn't matter, that map is a piece of shit!"

"Is not!"

"Who drew it?!"

"I did!"

"Oh, ok, well THAT explains it!"

The argument continued much like this for a while. Minho had been propping his head on his hand, eyes half-closed as the heat took its toll on him too. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair again and started unbuttoning his shirt; a sure sign of the heat bothering Minho was when he took his shirt off. Newt swallowed as the line of bare skin at Minho's chest widened. Minho suddenly looked up from across the table. Their eyes locked. One side of Minho's mouth turned up, like he was holding back a smirk. He raised one eyebrow a fraction, a silent message: what're you looking at?

Newt dropped his gaze, face burning. He glanced over and saw Ben taking his shirt off too. My god, it WAS hot. Newt looked at Minho again. His shirt was completely open, a knowing expression on his face. Oh. Well two could play that game. Newt reached for the hem of his tank top and, a bit sheepishly, peeled it off. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. He never let himself break eye contact with Minho. Minho stared, his lips parting slightly. He hadn't expected this. Then he rested his chin on his palm, hiding his devilish grin from the others. Letting his dark eyes trail over Newt, he mouthed, sexy.

Newt blushed and struggled not to smile like an idiot.

Max and Daniel were still arguing, growing louder by the second.

"Are you saying I suck at drawing?!"

"Uh, YEAH!"

"Dude, I am a freaking great draw-er! Why else would I be a Runner?!"

"Look at that! It looks like a box with snakes in it, not a maze!"

"That's kinda what mazes look like!"

"Not really!"

Newt sent Minho a challenging look. In reply, Minho stood up. Newt watched warily as Minho made his way slowly around the table and casually took the seat next to Newt. Newt became hyperaware of the five inches between their chairs. He refused to even glance at the Keeper, because if he did, he'd slowly lose his mind. Minho acted like he was watching the debate between the other Runners. But as he did, he hooked his fingers in the bottom of Newt's chair and wrenched it up against his. Newt jerked, startled, and scowled in annoyance.

"Something wrong?" Minho asked under his breath.

"...no," Newt answered, keeping his voice steady.

Minho's response was to hook his ankle around Newt's under the table. Little tingles ran the whole way up Newt's leg. He gulped, struggling to hide the effect Minho was having on him.

"Minho," Daniel said suddenly. He held up a picture of a map, jabbing a finger at it. "Does this look like a decent drawing to you?"

"No," Max snorted.

"Shut up, no one asked you."

Minho bent to study the drawing. "It depends," he answered. "What section is this?" As he spoke, he placed his hand on Newt's knee, hidden by the table. Newt almost jumped a foot in the air. Heat spread from Minho's palm through his jeans and drove him crazy.

Daniel gaped at him. "You can't tell?" he asked, looking so disappointed that Max sniggered like a little kid winning a prize. "It's section five!"

"Oh. Yeah, that's a sucky drawing. Sorry, Dan." Minho's thumb rubbed back and forth over Newt's knee. Newt was frozen in his seat.

"Dammit," Daniel muttered.

Max clapped him on the shoulder. "Better luck next time, Danny," he chirped triumphantly. Daniel glowered at him in return.

Meanwhile, Minho inched his hand up Newt's thigh. Flames lit up Newt's skin. "Minho," he hissed warningly.

"Do you want me to stop?" Minho asked in a low voice.

"Yes."

"Okay." But Minho didn't move his hand. He smiled a sinful smile. "Now answer me again. And this time, don't lie to me."

Newt didn't say a word. Victory flickered in Minho's expression. "That's what I thought."

Newt knew then that he wasn't going to survive much longer with something as wicked as Minho tempting him.


	6. Part Five

I had so much fun writing this guys. And seriously, thank you for all the incredible reviews. They really make me happy to see after finishing a chapter :)

This short story is ending soon, but there's a few more parts left to it. I think you'll like this next part... ;)

Anyway, enough from me. Enjoy the story!

Part Five

"All right, everybody out."

Daniel glanced up in surprise as Minho stood up. "But we were... What?" he asked. It had finally been cool enough for the Runners to venture back into the Maze. They'd been out all day, mapping the outer rings. Of course, that included the extra work of teaching Newt and avoiding the place where the Griever had been. Now they were exhausted, sprawled out in the Map Room. None of them wanted to move.

Apparently, Minho had other ideas.

He was standing by the door, pushing it open imperiously. "It's late, I'm tired, I'm sick of sitting in here with a bunch of maps," he grumbled. "So it's officially time to pack up and leave."

Newt and Daniel, who were sitting next to each other, exchanged a puzzled glance. Minho had never kicked them out before. Daniel narrowed his amber eyes at Minho, like he was utterly confused by this. "But we didn't even get through all of today's maps," he protested slowly.

"Yeah," Newt put in, just as bewildered by this. "What gives?"

Minho sent them a withering frown. "You want the night off or what?" he asked flatly. "I thought you'd be happy that I wanted to do this for you, but if not, well then I guess we can just work straight through the nigh—"

"See ya, Danny!" Max exclaimed, jumping up from his chair; he was out the door in two seconds flat. Brian was right on his heels, beaming a hundred-watt smile. Ben followed at a slower pace, rolling his eyes at their childish excitement.

"Well, in that case, I'm out," Daniel decided. He left the pile of papers on the table and stood. Newt copied him, relief settling into his bones at the prospect of a night off. It did sound nice...

He started for the doorway after Daniel. But as soon as Daniel disappeared outside, Minho suddenly planted a hand on Newt's chest to stop him. "Not you." He slammed the door shut with a loud bang, not caring if the Runners outside heard it.

Newt frowned. "What?" he asked sharply, wary because of the troublemaking note in Minho's voice. He blinked when Minho pressed the cream hoodie against Newt's stomach.

"Here. It's clean. I wanted to give it back to you."

Newt's fingers closed uncertainly over the fabric. "Thanks..."

"Oh, and also—" Minho kept his hands on the hoodie and pushed Newt back into a wall. The blonde stuttered in shock as molten metal seemed to rocket into his veins; Minho braced one hand on the wall beside Newt's head and grinned evilly. "We have unfinished business, Greenie."

Newt's lungs didn't seem to be working anymore. He stood rigidly, the hoodie trapped between them like a barrier. "W—what do you mean?" he asked.

"That night, at the Homestead." Minho cocked his head innocently. "You don't remember?"

Oh, Newt remembered. He shivered as Minho touched their foreheads together. "I was... You were... You wanted to—"

"Kiss you," Minho finished, enjoying Newt's stammering. His attention flitted to Newt's mouth. "I wanted to kiss you. I still do. What do you think I should do about that, Greenie?"

"Don't call me that." A spark of defiance flared inside of Newt.

"Fine then. Newt." Minho let the name slip off his tongue like warm honey, low and seductive. He lightly rubbed his nose against Newt's, making the other boy gasp slightly. "My gorgeous, beautiful Newt," he murmured. "You want to be mine, don't you?"

"Yes," Newt confessed, in an exhale.

"And you want me? As yours? No one else?"

Newt nodded, unable to speak. They were so close now, close enough for body heat to flood into each other. "M—Minho?" he stammered.

"Hmm?" Minho moved so that his bottom lip grazed Newt's, a tantalizing tease of skin.

"Can you just kiss me now?"

Minho smiled lopsidedly. He placed a playful kiss to Newt's nose before sinking their mouths together, finally. Newt felt his entire body come alive. Nothing had ever felt like this before. Nothing. Minho kissed him languidly, slow, like he knew he had all the time in the world. Newt's eyelids fluttered shut and he felt himself melt into Minho. He was growing drunk on this sweet, deadly taste. Minho mischievously ran his tongue along Newt's lips and the blonde gave a small moan; he dropped the hoodie and brought his hands up to Minho's shoulders.

The kiss grew hungrier then, desperate, delirious. Minho still had one hand against the wall but the other closed over Newt's waist, sending heat through his shirt. Newt didn't know what he was doing anymore. His hands curled into the front of Minho's shirt and he heard buttons snap. Not caring if he ripped them off, he tore Minho's shirt open and shoved it down off his shoulders. Minho seized him by the hips and dragged them up against each other. The feel of bare skin under Newt's fingertips drove him wild; he traced the powerful curve of Minho's back and let out a sharp sigh of pleasure.

Minho suddenly broke the kiss, gasping. "God," he breathed raggedly. His eyes were fogged over with desire. "I've never—" He stopped himself, shook his head. "No one's ever done this to me, made me crazy. But you do this to me." He trailed kisses down Newt's jaw to his neck, making the blonde tip his head back. "You make me lose my mind," Minho moaned out against his skin.

Newt shuddered as Minho continued to kiss his neck, nipping gently, and leaving flames in his wake. The Keeper's fingers played with the hem of Newt's shirt. Newt wanted nothing between them. Grabbing his shirt, he stripped it off, surprised at how fast Minho hauled him back into his arms. Minho moved his mouth to Newt's collarbone, his tongue grazing Newt's skin. A whimper left him before he could stop it. "Minho," he gasped out, nails digging into Minho's back.

Minho growled under his breath and suddenly slid his hands deep into Newt's back pockets. Lifting the other boy up, he let Newt wrap his legs around his waist and backed him up onto the table. The Keeper was on top, forearms supporting himself over Newt, who was breathless and buzzing from skin and kisses and touches. Minho kissed his way down Newt's chest, marking a smoldering path down the blonde's middle. Newt groaned in pleasure, his back arching up off the table. He felt Minho's fingers hooking in his waistband, and heard the sound of his jeans coming undone. Nervousness and panic jolted him. "Wait," he blurted out.

Minho stopped, his hands still on Newt's jeans, an almost-comical look of confusion on his face. "What?" he asked, chest rising and falling with every breath.

Newt sat up so that they faced each other, him sitting on the table, and Minho now standing between his knees. "We...should stop," he said reluctantly.

A tiny flicker of hurt flashed in Minho's expression. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not!" Newt hurried to answer, then blushed. "I want to stop because..."

"Because...?"

Newt couldn't stop the words that left him next. "Because I want to know if this is just some one-time thing to you, just—just want and nothing else, because I couldn't take that, Minho, because I love you." He held his breath, horrified by what he'd just said. He hadn't meant for the confession to come out.

Minho stared at him, dumbfounded, and maybe hurt again. "You think this is just me wanting some...stupid, one-night...thing?" he asked. "After you said you loved me?"

Newt was silent.

Minho made a soft sound in his throat and bent to run his nose up Newt's neck. "This would never be a one-time thing to me," he mumbled. "You would never be. Not when I already feel like I belong to you."

Newt exhaled in relief. He hugged Minho close. "Well, you do," he teased softly. "You're mine, Minho. Mine, and nobody else's."

Minho chuckled. "I never wanted to be anyone else's," he murmured. He pecked Newt's mouth sweetly. "And I think..." He trembled just a bit. "...I love you," he whispered brokenly.

Newt's entire being filled with light at the words. He had never imagined that he would feel this way for anyone, or that he'd ever have Minho for himself. He held Minho, burying his face in his shoulder, and let himself feel complete for the first time in his life.

~The Next Day~

"We're heading out to the outer rings today. The very outer rings."

It was morning. Minho was standing at the doorway to the Maze, circled by a ring of Runners. Only he, Max, Brian, Daniel and Ben wore the leather Runner harnesses. Newt had been asked by Alby to stay and help out in the Glade, since the leader wanted to take a look at a few Maps. Besides, Newt had liked helping out in the Glade with odd jobs when he was a newbie. He was good at it, so he didn't mind staying behind. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, the sky clear and blue. The air was warm, but not uncomfortably so.

Well, he still would've liked to join Minho in the Maze, of course. But that couldn't be helped.

Daniel groaned in dread. "The OUTER rings?!"

Minho gave the raven-haired boy a withering look. "Yes, Dee," he deadpanned. "The OUTER rings."

Daniel wilted in defeat under the Keeper's scowl. "Finnnnnnnne."

Brian's chocolate-colored eyes were wide with exaggerated fear. "Like, the OUTER outer rings? Man, I'm gonna kill myself. This'll take all day."

Max grinned and nudged his best friend with his elbow. "Aw, suck it up, wimp," he joked, his hair shining like flame in the sunlight. "You'll survive it. And I'll be right there with you the whole time, so no worries."

To Newt's surprise, he noticed Brian turn a light shade of pink. The curly-haired boy's smile was a bit lopsided when he looked at Max. "Yeah, whatever," he replied sarcastically. He avoided Max's gaze though. Maybe there was another couple beginning in the Glade.

Newt ran a hand through his blonde hair. "Okay, well," he began hesitantly, "I'll see you guys later then."

"Wish you could come with us, Newt," Daniel said with a friendly grin.

Brian shuddered. "And wake up another Griever?" he joked. "No thanks!"

"That was a while ago!" Newt protested with a laugh. "Forget about it already!" The Runners teased and sniggered at him. He rolled his eyes good-humoredly. Then he raised a hand in farewell. "Just get out of here. I'll see you later."

"Newt," Minho called, making Newt stop. His heart skipped a beat when he looked back at the Keeper. Minho was smirking. "Get over here."

Ben and Daniel blinked at each other in puzzlement as Newt sighed and walked up to Minho. Minho waited smugly, with his fingers hooked in his leather harness. As soon as he was close enough, he cupped Newt's face in his hands and slowly kissed his mouth. Newt melted and kissed back. Gasps sounded from the other Runners. Max squeaked in shock and Daniel wolf-whistled. Minho drew back, his mouth quirked up sexily. "I'll see you later, love," he murmured, encouraging another round of cat-calls and whistles.

"Yeah," Newt replied dazedly. He was sure he was grinning like an idiot. "See you later."

Minho stepped back, a softness in his expression. Then he barked at the Runners. "All right, shanks, let's go." He started into the Maze without another word. Max and Brian followed, flashing Newt hilarious thumbs-up signs. Ben snickered at them and trailed behind.

Daniel looked like he'd just won the lottery as he jogged after his Keeper. "Whoa, whoa, wait! You have the hots for NEWT?"

Brian, Max, and Ben cracked up. Minho didn't look back. "Shut up, Dee."

"I didn't know this was a THING! You guys are a THING?"

"Shut UP, Dee."

"All this time, I thought MAX was the one, but jeez, I guess Newt's gonna get some—"

"DANIEL."

Daniel was so startled, he stopped dead in his tracks. Then he jumped in the air with a whoop of victory. "OH MY GOD YOU CALLED ME DANIEL!" he hollered, his shout echoing in the Maze.

Newt felt warmth blossom inside of him, watching his best friends joke and talk together. Again, he wished that he might be going with them.

He didn't know that some of them might not be coming back.

~That Night~

"Something's wrong." Alby gazed off at the doors across the Glade. The sky was darkened to navy. A chilly breeze swept over the trees and flowing grass. The first stars were winking down like ivory spirits. They hadn't seen the Runners come back, but they had been very busy all day. They had probably missed some of them returning. Ben had stopped by earlier to say hi before finding somewhere to sleep in the Homestead. Minho, Max, Daniel, and Brian were either still out there or somewhere unknown in the Glade. They should've checked in with Alby. It was unlike them to forget.

Newt was standing across from Alby, leaning against a tree. They had been at the gardens for a little while, searching for some plant the Med-jacks said they needed for medicine. They'd been there for a long time now. "What d'you mean?" he asked warily. "They got back, didn't they? Did you see them?"

"They never checked in with me," Alby replied. His brow was furrowed with concern and unease.

"Maybe they forgot," Newt pointed out. "But I mean, did you see anyone come through the doors?"

"I thought I saw..." Alby trailed off. He shrugged. "But that might've been Ben and he already stopped by. The doors are about to close."

A stone sank into Newt's heart. He was anxious now too. Something here didn't feel right. "Will they make it?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

"I don't—" Alby broke off suddenly, and pointed. "There!"

Newt spun around and looked straight for the doors of the Maze. As he watched, a loud, grinding noise sounded. Slowly, the monstrous slabs of stone began to slide toward each other. From the closing gap, a lone figure darted into the Glade. His hair was brown and wavy. Brian. He stumbled once, nearly fell, but picked himself up and started to...limp across the Glade as fast as he could. Newt felt ice trickle down his back. Oh god, no.

"Brian!" Alby shouted. He took off toward the wounded Runner. Newt was right on his heels. The foreboding inside of him refused to go away the whole way to Brian.

It took them a couple minutes to reach him. Brian collapsed once they were close, exhausted. He sat on his knees, wincing at some unknown pain. He looked terrible. Sweat slicked strands of hair to his forehead. His arms and face were scratched and bloodied. One leg had been injured somehow; scarlet stained his jeans like red war paint. He gulped in air, pushing his bangs back off his forehead. "Oh...God..." he panted. Despair and terror lingered in his voice.

Alby studied the other boy in confusion. "Brian, what the shuck happened?" he demanded. "Ben came back hours ago. I haven't seen Minho, Daniel or Max at all. Where the hell are they?"

"Two of them are...in the Glade," Brian gasped out. He shuddered once. "They...snuck in...when you weren't...looking."

Alby's eyebrows rose. "Which two?"

"I don't...know," Brian answered weakly. "I heard...Max say something about...sneaking in...with someone...but I don't know if it was...Dan or...Minho." He squeezed his eyes shut. "He was...going insane. A Griever...attacked us."

"WHAT?" Newt and Alby both asked incredulously.

Brian nodded. "Hurt my...leg...early in the day," he explained. "As soon as we...reached the outer rings. Stabbed me. The shucking...shuck-face." He rubbed at his leg and flinched. "Max...and someone else...whoever he snuck in with...got Stung."

Newt's blood froze in his veins. Two Runners had been Stung. This morning. They'd gone a whole day without the Serum. And now...

Alby was furious and scared at the same time. He balled his hands into fists. "You mean to tell me that TWO Runners got Stung, and now they're loose in the Glade?"

Brian bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry. I couldn't see them, I only...heard their plan. I was...hiding...I couldn't let the Griever...Sting me too."

Newt glanced at Alby in horror. "What does this mean, exactly?" he asked.

"It means we have two animals in here, at night." Alby glanced around them as though he expected the Runners to attack right then. "They haven't had the Serum since they've been Stung. They got back in here at some point, probably going cannibal and thinking they could kill some of us. Who knows what state they're in right now."

"You mean no one's gone this long without getting the Serum before?" Newt asked.

"No one," Alby confirmed. "And trust me, being Stung ain't no fun. I have no idea how crazy they'll be." He looked at Newt, a shadow passing over him. "We have to find them, before they find someone else."

Brian suddenly groaned in pain. He clutched at his leg, teeth clenched tight. Alby immediately knelt down to help him to his feet. As he checked over Brian's leg, he glanced briefly up at Newt. "Go check the Map Room," he ordered, jerking his head toward the squat building. "They might be in there. Don't wake anyone up yet. I don't want them panicking."

"Okay." Newt was already panicking. He started for the Map Room as fast as he could, praying the whole way there. Praying that his friends were all right. Praying that they could be healed. Praying that Minho wasn't one of them.


	7. Part Six

Part Six

Hey, guys! Thanks so much for the awesome reviews. You've made my day with them. Anyway, here's part six. I put the song lyrics in the beginning because I thought Harder to Breathe really describes the Runners who got Stung and infected (or at least ONE of them...). You can look it up and see what I mean :)

Hope you like this chapter! (Sorry for the cliffhanger again...)

"Like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams:

Is there anyone out there

Cuz it's getting harder and harder to breathe."

–Maroon 5

When Newt reached the Map Room, he hesitated. The door stood before him, familiar, like coming home after school. But now it held an ominous aura around it. It dared him to open it. If the two infected Runners were inside, and if what Alby had said about the Serum was true, then they were most likely out of their minds. Insane. Delirious. Cannibals, as Alby had said. Newt could barely imagine something more horrible than his closest friends being bloodthirsty monsters, changed by the Sting of a Griever. He didn't want to open this door. Somehow, he knew, they were inside.

Cold claws of frost seemed to dig under his skin. He had to do it. He had to know. He steeled his courage. And he flung open the door in one motion. What he saw inside changed him forever. At first, there was just the table, strewn with maps, the wooden chests and papers. Everything in its organized chaos. The windows were firmly closed. Normal. Then he saw Max.

The redhead stood across the room from Newt, letting the table support his weight. His posture was poor, shoulders slumping. His breaths came in shaky bursts. He raised his gaze when Newt opened the door, and his pupils shook strangely. Blood stained his chest and shoulder, dried and purple. Ugly. His breathing rattled as though more blood was caught in his lungs and when he saw Newt, no recognition registered in his crazed eyes. Instead, he peeled his lips back in an animalistic growl, low in his throat.

He wasn't the only person in the room. Someone else was there, his back to Newt, terrifyingly close to the blonde. He too turned his head when Newt entered. Newt wanted to cry. He deflated in despair, one hand frozen on the door. "Oh, Minho..." he whispered sadly.

Minho frowned at the sound of his name, but there was no sign that he even knew who Newt was. Crusted streams of blood spidered down his right arm from his shoulder. His normally-flawless, olive-toned skin was crisscrossed with scratches. His body jerked unnaturally, his chest heaving. He braced both hands on the table, turning away from Newt again, and coughed roughly. Newt was sickened by the thin line of scarlet that came from Minho's throat.

"Wellllll," Max drawled, catching Newt's attention. The redhead leered maliciously, staggering from the table and nearly falling. "Look...at...THIS. Look who came to play with us." He cackled manically, like this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

Minho bared his teeth in his trademark smirk, but it looked more like a twisted snarl. "The little Greenie," he slurred.

"You wanna play with us?" Max asked, grinning darkly at Newt.

"Yeah, you wanna play?" Minho put in.

Newt couldn't speak. Max stumbled closer, coming around the table as though he was drunk. He growled again, sending a shiver down Newt's spine. "I can show you how," he offered.

Minho barked a laugh, and looked Newt up and down. "I'd play with that," he remarked, low.

Max giggled so hard, he snorted. Then he straightened and held up his arms. Very deliberately, he sank his nails into his elbow and drew four lines of red the whole way down to his wrist. Newt gaped. Max was smiling. "That's how you play," he explained. "Please try not to scream."

"Yes, don't scream," Minho pleaded, with ridiculous puppy eyes.

"It was so annoying when Dee did."

"Ugh."

"We had to shut him up, fast."

"But if you don't scream, we can keep you."

Newt's gaze flicked between them frantically. Dee. Daniel. What did they do to him? Who were these people? Who were these monsters? "Max, Minho," he began slowly. "You need help, okay? You need the Serum. Now I need you both to just stay here, and I'll go get Alby. Okay?" And he started to back away.

Lightning-fast, Minho darted forward and slammed the door shut. He kept one hand on it, pinning Newt back against it. Max rounded the table then and joined Minho, a sneer contorting his face. They crowded in on him and trapped him from either side. "Aww, you don't wanna run away so fast, do you?" Max asked in mock hurt. "We just wanna have some fun, don't we, Minho?"

"Yeah, just a little fun," Minho agreed.

They leaned in more.

And terror made Newt act.

He drove his heel down hard into Max's foot. Max howled in pain and fury, falling back against the table. At the same time, Newt swung his fist at Minho's face. With startling speed, Minho caught him by the wrists and shoved him back against the door again. He felt the Keeper's nails digging painfully into his skin and a strangled whimper left him. "Minho!" he cried. "Stop!"

"Minho! Stop!" Minho mocked in a poor impression of Newt's accent.

"Minho, please!"

"Minho, please!" Minho laughed at himself in twisted glee.

Newt snapped. He hauled off, wrenching his arm free with all of his strength, and slapped Minho across the face. Minho jerked to one side, the crack of the blow sounding in the little room. He whipped his head right back around, blazing with anger, and snarled at Newt. "You little bastard! I'm gonna tear your throat off!" As though he was going to do just that, he buried his fingers deep in Newt's hair and slammed the blonde's head back against the door.

Newt cried out. He struggled in vain to free himself, but Minho had an iron grip. "Please, Minho!" he begged breathlessly. "Look at me!" Minho bent forward, tightening his grip in Newt's hair. "Minho, LOOK at me!" Newt felt tears building in his eyes. "You know me, I know you do! Look at me, please!" Minho gave a shudder, his other hand shooting up to close over Newt's throat. Newt choked as the fingers gripped hard. A single tear escaped and raced down his face. "M—Minho," he gasped. "Please, look at me. Please see me."

"I do see you," Minho rasped. He turned once and hacked again. Blood spattered into the floor. He glowered at Newt.

Newt's lungs were on fire. He pried at Minho's fingers, but it was no use. "Please..."

"You're dead," Minho told him grimly.

"Min..."

"You hear me? Forget stupid games. I'm killing you now."

Tears streaked Newt's face. He was going to die. He managed to pull in a short breath. "That's...okay," he croaked. "Hear me, Minho? It's okay. It's okay." He met those mocha-dark eyes, now glazed over with insanity. He couldn't breathe anymore. "...I love you, Minho."

Minho's body jumped as though he'd been shot. He sucked in a harsh gasp and bowed his head. A tremble racked his shoulders. Newt felt the hold on his neck loosen. When Minho lifted his head, there was a minuscule shred of sanity in his gaze. "Newt?" he stammered, his voice breaking under the weight of the Sting's poison.

Hope pricked at Newt's heart. "Minho," he managed, throat sore. "You have to...come with me."

"I can't." Minho fought for the words. He glanced over his shoulder at Max, who was watching icily. "We'll hurt—someone."

"No, you won't," Newt argued. "You're fine now, okay? Just come with me, let me get you to Alby."

"I'm not—gonna risk it," Minho gasped. "I can't hurt—you."

"You won't."

"You know I might."

Newt watched as Minho dragged his hands away from his neck. The Keeper stepped back, shivering violently. A broken sound left his throat and he ducked his head into his hands. Newt hurried toward him, but halted when Minho barked, "don't come near me!" Already his attitude was changing, as the venom worked its way inside him. "Tell Alby—to kill us," he rasped, indicating himself and Max.

"I can't do that."

"You will."

"No."

Minho moaned and spit out more blood. "If you love me, you will." He turned away then. A cough ripped from his chest. He held onto a chair for support.

Newt was losing him. "Minho—"

"Just go! Get out of here!"

"But—"

"Leave!" Minho's expression blackened. "Get AWAY from me!"

Newt didn't know what else to do. He had to save him. He had to save him. But first, he needed Alby. With a stone in his throat, he opened the door.

Max's face ignited in madness. "You're letting him get away!" He lunged for Newt, fingers like curled claws. He made it two strides before Minho let out a feral noise unlike anything Newt had ever heard. Max stopped in frustration. "He's LEAVING," he protested.

"Don't you dare touch him," Minho snarled. It was the last sane thing he said, before he was lost again.

Newt ran. He didn't look back.

-o-o-o-

By the time Newt made it back to the Homestead, it was fully night in the Glade. The sky was a sheet of navy velvet, brimming with scattered stars. An icy wind swept over the grass and it whispered under his feet as he ran. Gladers were fast asleep all around, unaware of the danger in their home. Newt fought against tears as he ran, frantic to find Alby. There had to be a chance to save them, there had to be. He couldn't lose his best friend. He couldn't lose Minho. Not like this.

He made it to a side door of the Homestead, that led to where the two Med-jacks treated injured Gladers. It was a small room with two beds at one side, a table of medicines, and a cracked mirror at one wall. Newt knew because he'd been in there once, after the first Griever attack. He burst through the door now, gulping for air. His wide eyes found Alby first; the dark-skinned boy was standing over one of the beds, thumbs slung in his jeans pockets. Brian lay on top of the sheets, sweat beading his forehead. A Med-jack with short brown hair and blue eyes—Jeff—was winding a bandage around Brian's leg with careful fingers. Everyone glanced up in alarm when Newt arrived.

Alby was instantly on-alert. "Did you find them?" he demanded grimly.

Newt nodded, shutting the door behind him. He fell against it, shutting his eyes. "Yeah," he panted out loud. "They're in the Map Room."

"And how bad are they?" Alby asked.

Newt was silent.

Alby's face became a mask of anger and growing fear. "Dammit, Newt, tell me," he ordered.

"They didn't even know who I was," Newt admitted in a small voice.

Alby closed his eyes. "Shuck," he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Brian tried to prop himself up on an elbow. "Wh—who was it, Newt?" he asked.

Newt avoided eye contact with anyone when he said it. "Max and Minho."

Brian gave a disappointed groan and flopped back onto the pillows. Alby swore under his breath. "Great. Now we got our Keeper of the Runners going insane. Just great." He kicked at the floor and paced a few steps back and forth, lost in thought. He exhaled a drawn-out sigh. "They're too dangerous," he said, half to himself. "Even if we get close enough to give them the Serum, I have no clue what they'll be like during the Changing. This has never happened before. Never. ...dammit!" He bit out the last word, realizing what decision was best for the Gladers as a whole. "We have to kill them."

Jeff bent over his work like he didn't want to listen anymore and Brian groaned again.

Newt pushed off the door immediately. "No."

"Newt, I understand that they're your friends, but this has to happen."

"No, it doesn't. We can get them the Serum, we can save them."

"You don't know that for sure."

"I don't care."

"Newt!" Alby snapped. He pointed at the blonde. "This is what's best for everyone. You hear me, EVERYONE. I need to protect these people. Right now, all of the Gladers are asleep in the upper floors. If Max or Minho get into the Homestead and get past us, they'll kill whoever they find until they're stopped. I'm not letting that happen. I'm ending this. This is what Minho and Max would've wanted."

"They wouldn't have wanted to die!" Newt argued. "They would choose to live, if they knew there was a chance for them!"

"And what if there is no chance? What if the Serum doesn't work?"

"I still want to try."

"What is it with you? Why can't you just shut up and see that what I'm saying makes sense?"

Brian spoke up then, softly. "Because he's in love with Minho."

The room went silent. Jeff paused, holding a bandage in his fingers. Newt was frozen in place. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. Alby frowned at him. "Newt. Is this true?" he asked, calmer now.

Newt nodded numbly.

Alby didn't say anything for a long long moment. Then he seemed to brace himself, squaring his shoulders. "Then you have to think about what's most important for all of the Gladers," he said slowly. "And not what's most important to you."

Newt was paralyzed, both from the statement and from the dawning truth. They were going to kill Minho. They were going to KILL MINHO. A memory surfaced unbidden in his mind, of Minho saying goodbye before entering the Maze without Newt. Newt fought a sob down and willed himself to be strong. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor. "Okay," he mumbled. "I'll just... Okay."

Alby studied him critically. Then he huffed out a breath and turned to Jeff. "Jeff," he said, and the Med-jack blinked. "Where do you keep the syringes of the Serum?"

Jeff sat up on his knees by Brian's bed and pointed to a drawer at the far corner of the room. "There's probably a couple in there," he told Alby. "And there's more in another room down the hall. We always keep some in here for emergencies though."

"Okay, good. We might need them. Now, I'm going to go back to the Map Room with Newt." Alby flashed Newt a warning through cutting eyes. "We'll try to give Max and Minho the Serum. But if they get crazy, and we can't do it, I'm not letting them out of there alive. Understand?"

Newt didn't want to agree. He was not going to throw away Minho's life. But the numbness had settled inside of him now and he only said, "okay."

Alby seemed satisfied with that. "Okay. Jeff, stay here with Brian. I'm going to—" He stiffened abruptly, halfway to the drawer of syringes. His gaze had moved to something on the opposite side of the room, farthest away from the four Gladers. Jeff laid down the bandages very slowly. Brian's fists curled into the blankets. Newt turned to face the door; his pulse stopped when he saw that it was open and two figures were standing there, their faces contorted into demonic sneers.

Max waved and winked in eerie playfulness. "Miss me?"


	8. Part 7

Part Seven

**And here it is! Part Seven, the last part of this story. Thank you all for the amazing reviews. They kept me going through the stupid writer's blocks and spelling mistakes. I'm very happy you all liked this story so much. I hope you enjoy the ending as much as you enjoyed the rest of it :)

So that's all from me for now! Enjoy Part Seven, and don't worry, there are more stories for these two coming soon! :)**

Alby was the one who spoke first. "Max...Minho...you have to stop."

The two Runners burst into manic cackles, their teeth stained red and their faces twisted into the expressions of lunatics. Their laughter was the laughter of Death itself, a black thing that rippled hauntingly through the air. Max propped his elbow up on Minho's shoulder, wiping tears of mirth from his cheek. "Did you hear that, Min?" he asked shrilly. "They think we should STOP!"

Minho threw an arm around Max's shoulder like they were best friends. "There's no stopping this now!" he exclaimed, beaming at an astonished Alby.

"No stopping it!" Max agreed, stabbing a finger in the air.

"Besides, what're we even trying to stop? I don't feel sick." Minho took on an air of bravado. Then he suddenly growled at some hidden pain and spit out blood onto the floor.

Brian squeaked in horror. Max was unbothered. "Yeah, you're sick all right," he told Minho, poking a finger in the Keeper's chest. "But that's perfectly okay. You are a good kind of sick."

Alby stomped up to stand beside Newt. The blonde jumped when Alby shouted, "you both are out of your MINDS! Can you even hear yourselves?!"

Max flinched. "Don't yell at me," he replied coldly. The animal in him was rising up again. He bared his teeth. "I don't like it."

"MAX!" Alby yelled. "You're shucking CRAZY! Do you even know who I am?!"

"Alby," Max answered like it was a test question. "You're big, know-it-all, ALBY. Well, guess what? I don't have to listen to a word you say, shank." He growled at Alby, eyes sparking. Then he turned to Minho and dropped his head onto the Keeper's shoulder. "Don't have to listen to a single word. Right, Minho?" As though they were lovers, he nuzzled Minho's neck.

Minho purred at the touch. "Right."

Newt swallowed his hurt. He had to remind himself that this wasn't really Minho talking. This was the poison taking over. He edged a step back, toward where the syringes were kept.

Max and Minho instantly snapped to attention. They dropped their arms to their sides, fingers curled into tight fists. Max snarled threateningly. "Don't take another step, Greenie," he ordered.

"Newbie," Minho added harshly, a trickle of blood dripping down his chin.

"Greenbean."

"Shuck-face."

"Shank."

"Angel." Minho's face blanked. Then his brow furrowed in confusion, as though he couldn't figure out why he'd said that as an insult. "I don't..."

Hope surged into Newt so hard, it hurt. And he made a mistake. He moved closer to Minho.

Max lunged, arms reached out blindingly fast, and balled his hands in the front of Newt's hoodie. Newt heard Brian yell, heard Alby shout something from behind. He gasped and tried to free himself, but it was too late. Max had gained some kind of strength from a deep part of himself, the venom working into it. He spun his body around and threw Newt at Brian's bed. Newt's back slammed into the side of the bed. "Agh!" He crumpled against it, sitting limply on the floor. Pain travelled in throbbing waves down his spine and along his shoulders.

"Newt!" Brian cried. He was sitting up as best he could, straining to peer down at his friend. The injuries to his body stopped him.

Max was panting from the throw, his arms hanging. His mouth stretched into a hideous grin. "That...was fun," he remarked. His body twitched and he grimaced. "Wanna try it again?"

Alby clenched his jaw. His hand was inching back, heading for the long-bladed knife he kept in a sheath in his back pocket. "I think," he said, unexpectedly calm, "that we've have enough of your game." His fingers closed over the knife hilt. Determination lit in his features. A flicker of pain crossed over him as he said, "I'm sorry, Max." Quicker than a blink, he hurled the knife at the diseased Runner.

The blade pinwheeled, gleaming silver, and with a wet thud, it buried itself up to the hilt in Max's chest. Max shrieked, clawing at the spreading stain surrounding the knife. He stumbled backwards and choked on another animalistic wail. Newt's veins chilled with ice. Nothing had ever sounded so horrible. Minho snarled and strode toward Alby. Alby shrank back a step, lifting another knife from his sheath. Raising it above his head, he prepared to throw it like he had before.

"Alby!" Newt cried before he could stop himself. He winced as he gathered his feet under him, pushing up to his knees. "Don't!"

"Newt—" Alby was cut off when Minho got too close. Acting fast, he kicked out hard, planting his boot on Minho's chest and shoving him back to the opposite wall. The Keeper collided with the wall and growled in fury.

As Alby advanced on him and Max collapsed to his knees, Newt scrambled frantically to the drawer behind Alby. He saw Alby getting closer to Minho, and saw the Keeper drawing himself up to fight. This could not happen. He would not let this happen. He made it to the drawer and forced it open. Shoving his arm inside blindly, he wrenched out a syringe of the Serum.

Alby held the knife high.

Minho dared him to do it, his gaze burning with crazed hatred.

Suddenly, Newt was between them.

"Don't do it, Alby," he said, aware that it was a bad idea to have his back to Minho in this state. But he didn't care. He held his hands out to Alby, one gripping the syringe, silently pleading. "Please, don't do it."

"Newt, you know what has to happen," Alby argued. "You saw what they did! The Serum can't save them now!"

"You don't know that," Newt insisted. "Just...please. Let me try."

"He will kill you, Newt!" Alby shouted. His fingers dug into the knife hilt. His gaze flicked over Newt's shoulder and fear ignited in it. "NEWT!"

Before Newt could react, he felt Minho's fists curled in the back of his hoodie. The Keeper swung him around hard into the wall. Newt collided with the wood face-first, and pain exploded in his ribs and jaw. He bit his lip to stifle a cry. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Max on the floor, attempting to pull the knife from his chest. The redhead was bleeding out, the scarlet pool on his shirt widening with every second. With a sinking feeling, Newt realized that it was too late to save him.

Just then, Alby shouted in rage. He pulled his arm back and hurled his second knife. With the reflexes of a rattlesnake, Minho dodged to one side. The knife hit the wall with a thump and stuck there. Alby gaped. "Minho—"

"You damn shuck-face!" Minho lashed out with one fist, connecting with Alby's cheek. Alby's face snapped to one side and he stumbled back. Minho swung a fist again. This time, Alby ducked and spun, his heel slamming into Minho's stomach. Minho fell back into the wall again with a hiss of pain. The knife was beside him; Alby straightened in time to see the Keeper's gaze flit from the weapon to Newt. "Newt, watch out!"

Newt saw it coming a second too late. "Shit!"

Minho snatched the knife from the wall with one hand, the other shooting out to close around Newt's neck. The syringe clattered to the floor. In the next instant, he had the blonde held against him, both of them facing Alby. Minho's arm crossed over Newt's neck tightly, making Newt gulp for air and claw at the Keeper's fingers. Very slowly, Minho pressed the tip of the knife against Newt's throat.

Everyone in the room realized what was happening and froze. A deathly silence fell over them. It seemed as though the world itself was holding its breath.

Minho sneered at Alby. "Shouldn't have tried to kill me, shank," he said, feigning disappointment in his leader. "Now look what you've done."

Newt's chest heaved as he fought for every precious gasp of air. He could feel the steeliness of Minho against his back and knew that there was no way he could overpower him. The syringe of the Serum lay on the floor, halfway between him and Alby. He cursed at himself for dropping it. Even if Alby picked it up, it would be no use; Minho would slit Newt's throat as soon as he saw Alby reaching for it.

Alby's hands were up, in line with his shoulders in a surrendering position. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. "I don't want anyone to get hurt," he said tensely. "Or killed. Just let him go, Minho."

Minho gave a burst of laughter. "You didn't want anyone to get killed?" he asked disbelievingly. "Maybe you should've thought of that before you stabbed Max."

Alby glanced at the dying redhead, agony flashing over his features. "I did what I had to do."

"Oh sure, play the hero! Tough, noble Alby murders one of his friends and we all gotta thank him for it!" Minho dug the tip of the blade farther into Newt's skin, drawing blood. Newt gasped and tried to bend his neck away from the knife. "Well then, thank you Alby! Thank GOD for Gladers like you! This is just like something you'd do, you know!"

"What're you talking about?" Alby asked quietly.

"You don't remember?" Minho snorted. "You don't remember the 'dark days,' Alby? The days when YOU made a mistake and made some LUNATIC Keeper?" Alby was silent. Newt held as still as possible. Minho's voice darkened. "I don't think you ever thanked ME, you know," he went on. "I killed that son of a bitch when he murdered one of our Runners! I didn't see you doing anything!"

"I made a mistake!" Alby yelled back. "You don't even care about this anymore! You're sick, Minho, and you're not making sense!"

"I don't care!" Minho shouted. His voice sounded almost like a sob. "He slaughtered one of my best friends! The Runners were all I had! And when I got rid of him for you, your only thank-you was to make me Keeper! What a GREAT job that is!" As he spoke, the blade sank deeper into Newt's neck. Newt was afraid to move, but the pain sliced into him and he flinched.

"Well, I'm done," Minho continued, switching to a calmer voice in the shift of a second. The disease inside of him had taken over. "I'm going to kill this idiot." He bobbed his head at Newt. "And then I'm moving on to every one of you. If any of you try to stop me, I swear to god, I'll drag you straight to Hell with me."

Newt glanced down at the syringe again. Too far to reach. Gulping, he locked eyes with Alby. The leader gazed back, trapped. Praying that Minho wouldn't notice, Newt sent Alby an almost-nonexistent nod and mouthed, the Serum, on three. Alby's face shifted. He nodded back.

Minho's breathing rattled in his lungs. "I'm done with this game. I'm done with this life."

One.

Alby was stock-still.

Two.

A thin trickle of blood seeped down Newt's throat.

Three.

Summoning as much strength and speed as he could, Newt rammed his elbow into Minho's ribs. The effect he wanted happened: Minho's body doubled over on that side, the blade leaving Newt's neck. At the same time, Alby flicked the syringe from the floor with the toe of his boot. Newt never stopped moving; he caught the syringe in mid-spin, whirling around out of Minho's grasp.

He had no time for regret before he drove the needle deep into the Keeper's shoulder.

...

The sun's golden rays spilled across the sky, painting it deepest orange. It illuminated the stone walls of the Maze and turned them to flame. A warm breeze stirred the tree branches. It was evening in the Glade. The boys were all circled around campfires, helping to light them for the night. The Slicers were heading off to the Homestead in a line, searching once again for the Med-jacks. Gally was scolding some little kid, who shrank back with wide, scared eyes. A couple of Baggers were discussing something in low voices near a stand of trees. Alby looked on with arms crossed, talking to Brian, who was leaning on his uninjured leg. And at the top of a little slope near the outskirts of the Glade, two Runners sat alone, by a winding oak tree.

Newt's eyelids were drooping as he watched the life of the Glade around him. The grass was soft underneath him and the air was warm. He wished it was always like this here. "I wish it was always like this," he said out loud absently.

"Hmm?" Minho was seated against the tree, his legs stretched out on either side of Newt; he was letting the blonde lean back against his chest, arms circled loosely around his waist.

Newt tipped his head back against Minho's shoulder. "Are you listening to me at all?" he asked playfully.

"Trying to." Minho's mouth quirked.

Newt studied him for a long moment. "You okay?"

Minho went back to staring out at the Glade. A shadow fell over him. "I will be," he replied. "Someday."

"Someday?" Newt echoed worriedly.

Minho's old smirk surfaced and he looked back at Newt again. "Yeah, someday. When I can go one night without seeing Daniel's face in a nightmare. When I can forget seeing Max die." He closed his eyes and nuzzled Newt's hair, tightening his hold on his waist. "When I can forget how I hurt you."

"I told you I forgive you," Newt murmured, relaxing into Minho's embrace. "I knew you didn't know what you were doing."

"Still." Minho placed a kiss on Newt's jaw. "I won't be okay until I make it right."

"And how are gonna do that?"

Minho didn't answer. He continued to kiss along Newt's jaw, one hand coming up to cup the blonde's face. Tilting Newt's head to one side, he kissed down his neck, lips soft on his skin. Newt made a small sound of bliss from the back of his throat. When Minho nipped gently at his throat, the sound turned to a pleading whimper.

Without thinking, Newt pushed up off the ground and turned. He straddled Minho's hips, sinking his fingers into the Keeper's hair. Minho smirked and rested his hands on the small of Newt's back. He tugged teasingly at the collar of the denim shirt Newt wore. "You look good in my shirt," he murmured, and Newt shivered at his voice.

"Shut up, Min." Newt kissed him. Minho sobered immediately, holding Newt close and kissing him back softly in the dying light. Newt drowned himself in Minho's sweet, sinful taste, running his fingers reverently through ebony hair. His hands slipped down to Minho's black T-shirt and traced rippling muscle through the fabric. He pulled back reluctantly, knowing they should stop because other Gladers could see them. Resting their foreheads together, he stroked his thumb over Minho's cheek, surprised when Minho hummed in pleasure. "God, I love you," he whispered.

A smile tugged at Minho's mouth. "I love you too, Newt," he murmured, and Newt's chest filled to the brim with devotion. Then Minho snorted in amusement. "Figures; the one Glader I fall for is the Greenie wannabe Runner."

"I'm not a Greenie anymore," Newt pointed out.

"Whatever. You're still the moron who woke up a damn Griever on his first day."

"That was a long time ago!" Newt protested, and Minho snickered. The blonde glared at him.

"Aw, come on," Minho murmured. "I wanna see your smile." He leaned in to kiss Newt's nose and a silly grin rose on Newt's face. Minho chuckled smugly. "Gorgeous," he remarked, winking devilishly and stopping Newt's heart.

"You're gonna be the bloody death of me, I swear." Newt buried his face in the curve of Minho's shoulder, melting into him.

Minho trailed his fingers down Newt's back. He took a deep breath and pressed his lips to Newt's hair. "Thank you," he mumbled.

Newt blinked. "For what?"

"For saving my life." Minho smiled as Newt sat up, staring at him. Then he dropped his eyes almost...bashfully. "And for loving me. I'm the shuck-face that I am, and you love me anyway."

Newt never knew he could feel like this. Never would he have guessed that he'd have everything he ever wanted in one person. He was so lucky. He curled up against Minho again, head on the Keeper's shoulder, one hand lying on his chest. Minho held him sweetly in return and dropped a kiss on Newt's forehead. The sun set ahead of them, and the voices of the Gladers rose from below. Everything in their home was as it should be.

Newt's eyes fell shut.

"Thanks for loving me back, Minho."

~END~

**Well, there it is! Hope you enjoyed this little story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have any requests for one-shots I could write about any of these characters, go ahead and leave one in a review! I need some inspiration guys :)

Thanks for reading :D**


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